Tag: cancer

Eyes open, heart beating……

theycallmebetty4 Comments

When you look at your significant other what or who do you see?

Our daily existence grinds, wears and changes who we think we are, what we think we see, and how our minds perceive ourselves and those around us. Life has a way of giving you little moments to reset a thought process, unwind a feeling or empower a minute. Yet many times our ego, or self involvement will not allow us to see, and therefore we fail to recognize a second in time where we could reset our thoughts, our direction.

Last night after finishing laundry and making lunch for my high schooler, my sorry butt finally hit the hay around 11:00pm. Taking a deep breath as I assume we all do when our tired bones hit the mattress my thoughts were about nothing more than settling into another episode of the Sopranos as I have taken up the series from season one. Clicking all the right buttons and waiting for the screen on my iPad to flicker alive my eyes gazed across the sheets to my wife. My tired heavy sad face casts upon her as she lay, peacefully sleeping, her face swollen, puffy, like she went ten rounds with a prize-fighter only to get stung by a swarm of bees on the way out of the ring. Insult to injury.

She was smiling.

That is right, the whole world is crashing down around her, Leukemia is making her its bitch and she is smiling in her sleep. Now I know she is in misery and there is no earthly explanation for this insane facial distortion. The hives, itching, redness ruling her every moment for the last two days has been nothing short of maddening. Round after round of Benadryl, two pills every four hours resulting in an inability to stay awake. Her days just melding one into another with no real relief on the horizon. Yet she smiles slightly.

Staring intently I wonder what she is thinking about in her dreams? Is it September and her doctors telling her she is cured once again? Is she hugging her children without fear of catching a common cold? Is she riding her giant draft horse, hair grown back long and flowing, blowing in the breeze? Is she relishing in proving me wrong, about something, anything? Is she sitting on a beach holding my hand drinking beer laughing the way she does when I do something stupid? Does she know something I dont know?

At the very moment my eyes locked on her face my heart was overcome with joy. Why? Because she is mine.  She keeps apologizing to me for this blip in our lives and I tell her she needs not apologize, it is what it is and we will beat Leukemia. She wont beat it alone, we will beat it together. This woman, who is tougher than hell, meaner than a ferret when cornered and will drive me crazy in an argument with this uncanny ability to twist my words into a mess of spaghetti that even I can’t understand, is mine all mine. This thing called marriage inadvertently has highs and lows, struggles and triumphs.  She has given me so much, teaching me to be a better man, a good father and showing me the importance of constantly giving to others.

She tells me she hates the way she looks. No hair, no muscle tone, and she keeps losing weight. All part of the process I say. The funny thing is, I dont see it. When she smiles, it warms me, when she hugs me my heart still beats fast, when she holds my hand and walks with me, I feel like if anyone even thinks about looking at her funny it is all over for them.

So as I look at her, while she lays there sleeping, I quietly thank her. Our marriage will not be an easy one, there is quite a road ahead for us to climb.  I could sit here and complain about all the bad things that have happened in my life, cry about the hard times (and sometimes I do, because well you need to get things off your chest) that never seem to end from my narrowed perception. I look at her with all she is going through and there she lays, smiling.  Life gave me a moment to recognize, I did and and it seems that even with this disease our life together is pretty damn great.

Maybe that is why she is smiling?

When I look at my significant other, what do I see?

I dont see Leukemia

I see Love…….

Leukemia still sucks and sucks and sucks some more…

theycallmebettyLeave a comment

The days have come and gone like the wind that currently howls over our house at this very moment. Hard and fast air lets out then slow, easy almost comforting in a way it rolls back around.

Leukemia is a strange, strange beast. This form of cancer takes over your blood, choking the very life-sustaining cellular composition that travels within your veins. Chemotherapy or five specific chemicals to be more precise, drip into your system neutralizing this mutation as it grows. After five or so days strapped to an I.V. stand you are monitored for a few more days while blood is taken daily to register the effect this deadly poison does on your system. Then as your white cell counts drop (the main target) to almost nothing leaving you susceptible to even the most timid of colds, germs or traveling organisms you are sent home from this hospital incarceration to rest, relax and well, basically begin to feel as though you are dying.

But wait there’s more!

Blood, glorious blood, my feeling on this after watching my wife decline into a pale white almost vampirish state is you begin to crave this gooey red substance. For you see without almost daily transfusions at first, your blood becomes nothing more than an empty, nutrition less liquid that can barely carry oxygen to the brain.  Chemo-drugs continue to kill everything within its juicy red make up. No white cells, struggling red cells, no life.  Transfusions bring new platelets (Platelets, also called “thrombocytes”, are blood cells whose function (along with the coagulation factors) is to stop bleeding.) and blood. Without transfusions, these chemo drugs would have essentially done their job, killing off all white blood cells, leaving you a deathly shade of white, unable to fight infection and terrified to bump even the slightest object for fear of bleeding to death. No energy to walk, no energy to breathe, no energy to live.

The next few weeks after the first therapy session are spent going back and forth to the hospital. Blood draw at 8am, test results by 9-930 then either another day of sleeping due to a lack of energy or a glorious blood transfusion.  Now it sounds simple enough doesn’t it? Blood draw everyday and like having your car run low on fuel, just pop in and fill er’ up! I havent seen the bill yet, but I am pretty sure blood is more than $2.99 a gallon.

But what happens if you are allergic to these transfusions? Well our Miss Jacy is just that, (way to always be an overachiever huh?). So now instead of an easy-peasy morning or plug and play as it were, we stroll in to our own private room (thanks to the really killer, or shall I say bad-ass nurses at Kaiser who really dig my always smiling wife) and the count down begins.

Zyrtec to fight the histamine reaction needs to be on board prior to any fluids

Benydryl to cover an additional reaction that happens sometime after the initial infusion

A bag or two of blood to redden things up a bit! Oxygen rules!!!

Oh and a bag of platelets… Now these are not just any platelets either mind you, no no! These are carefully washed, plasma free platelets (Platelet Light I prefer to call it) made just for Jacy to minimize any allergic reactions. Oh and beware they need to be used quickly for they only have a shelf life of 4 hours!

Funny story the other day my poor wife was in the infusion clinic and hospital from 0930-11:30. Why? Because the delivery service from San Francisco a meer one hour and forty minutes away just couldn’t seem to get her platelets to her in under four hours! Hmmm seems to me that might be a tad bit important, huh? The response for such tardiness? Stuck in traffic. I call balderdash. But that’s neither here nor there .

So now she is all topped off, tune-up finished, low and behold no wheel chair needed to exit the hospital, no shortness of breath detected upon exertion and she feels as though she could run a marathon! Blood, Blood, amazing blood. Since blood is red, I believe I shall start referring to my wife as Ferrari! Sexy sleek thing that she is.

The long and the short of it? This is where we are right now in this whole process. There is much more to come, including a wonderful all-inclusive trip to Stanford University a bit later on.  I promise to tell you all about it! I hear the place is all the rave!

I wonder if I could get a blood transfusion after a weekend of rodeo? Hmmmmm???

It’s just not fair….

theycallmebetty7 Comments

Where to begin?

A year ago (March 31st to be exact) I wrote a story on this blog about a woman beginning to smile again. I had aptly named her journey in a series of blogs; The Face of Leukemia. The Face was my beautiful wife Jacy and leukemia was on the ropes. Jacy was still ill, but she was fighting hard and it showed. Leukemia was losing..

This fight lasted until May 13 when I wrote another story on this blog in reference to “The call”.  Leukemia was gone, her body clean, a smile permanently returned to that sweet face.  Jacy won, she kicked Leukemia’s ass and did it the only way she knew how, with faith and a smile on her face. She then spent the next several months battling to rebuild a body stripped of strength and muscle tone.  She spent many nights frustrated, angry at an inability to focus, remember, and keep simple tasks straight.  Jacy remained determined to finish her teaching credential and did so with the usual grit and tenacity that I fell in love with so many years ago.  It was not easy by any means and a few times we butted heads over what was best for her during this time of recovery.

August came and a teacher regained her classroom, starting a new school year off surrounded by children she loves, her colleagues and a purpose.  Our family regained their daughter, mother and wife. It hasn’t been easy, nights worrying if “it” will come back. The slightest hint of a sniffle or sore throat brings mind gripping fear.  Her brain turning, churning wondering if she was just tired from a long day or has “it” returned? Is she really angry with me and the kids or is fear crippling her emotions again? Is that sweat or fever induced paranoia? Five years clean we just need to make it five years clean and then ten! Yes if there is any human being on this earth that can not only meet but exceed these expectations it is my wife! The former face of Leukemia.  The face of victory, the face of WINNING! The face I love….

Enter Thursday March 12.

Earlier in the week prior to a simple operation to help with her ongoing iron deficiency, it was suggested she report for a standard blood draw.  This would give doctors a good baseline prior to the operation.  Within a day, results were in and the operation was off. She was to report on Monday for a bone marrow draw, further testing to confirm or deny what the numbers were showing. Stay calm I said, don’t worry I said, it will all be fine, you will be fine…..

Thursday March 19

Like a bad dream it rolled in disguised as a Honda Odyssey; at the wheel one spouse returning from work. Once again just as before while working horses I was about to receive the news. She walked slowly towards me as I saddled a horse for one of the boys, touched my arm gently upon reaching me and asked; would you care to go for a walk? The blood drained from my body as I knew.  Like knowing a relationship is over, or the police aren’t at your house, knocking on your door selling tickets to the annual ball.  I knew! I knew and asked her to just spit it out anyways. The look in her face, the light dullness of her eyes, and the sound of her voice slightly cracking. She let it all out. “It” was back…

I knew.

Leukemia had reared its ugly head once again. It wanted a fight and brought a few friends with it this time.  According to Jacy’s doctor some of the cells looked different, so more tests were in order. She had until Monday. Four days to get herself and her life in order. Four days is an eternity and not enough time all rolled into one. She told me two days later it felt like an imposed prison sentence and these were her last few minutes on the outside.

We talked for a while about moving forward, and staying positive. Deciding when to inform our immeidiate family and how to tell our children. We hugged a lot and agreed that keeping life as normal as possible for the children could only benefit them during this time. Not that anything was handled improperly last go around, but we now have experience with what to expect during the many transitional phases of this journey. The eldest children were notified first with Cody agreeing to come home for the summer.  The little ones were told the next day as to get them through the school week without incident. Everybody did their best to put on a brave face, but really no child should have to do such a thing when it comes to their mom.

Jacy and I set about trying to schedule things out over the next few months. This fight, this new fight was going to be harder, viler while wreaking greater havoc on her body over the last time around. It wasn’t just going to be chemo therapy either, a bone marrow transplant, talk about stem cells and living at Stanford for up to four months. This was for real, no easy cake walk for any of us, but especially for my wife.

Parents stepped in, friends have stepped in, and we are continually surrounded by some of the most gracious people I have ever met. I don’t know how to handle it at times, my manners not so contained. I have never been good at asking for help, my demeanor has always been one to help, one to fix, one to be there for someone else. Accepting or asking for help then standing aside has never ever been a strong point for me.

But I am thankful, so very thankful and with only being one week in, I am already exhausted. Not that I have anything to complain about, because I don’t. We have up to 5 more months to go, a routine will emerge and I will settle down, letting go of certain responsibilities, solely focusing all my efforts on our children and my wife. I don’t know how I will ever repay the love and support shown my family, but I will find a way and do my best to carry forward this giving spirit. Thank you all so much, my chest hurts thinking about the magnitude of it all…

Jacy started Chemotherapy on Tuesday the 24th. As before with a smile on her face, surrounded by wonderful nurses at Kaiser who remembered her and her endearing spirit from less than one year ago. One nurse cried when she found out Jacy was coming back. She felt for sure it was over the first go around, and upon seeing the name was overcome with emotion. She is one of our favorite’s nurses and there are many. The hospital and staff are simply amazing. Being in the business I am it is hard to leave my loved one in someone else’s hands, but here there is no doubt. Her light shines brightly upon all who come in contact with her, doctors and other nurses stop by just too say hi, check in on her and have a little conversation with the patient who smiles so brightly. My wife is truly one of a kind, it is humbling what she brings or gives to everyone she touches.

The sad reality of it all; Jacy sits in a room with no where to go, listening to machines all day long, she cant roam to far, cant be outside for too long, is tied to a rolling I.V. cart with up to five different medications pushing through her veins at one time, and with it each day brings a new level of sickness. She has Wi-Fi, Trivia Crack, Words with Friends, books, family and friends on call. But all she thinks about is her life at home, feeling no control over its future, what’s happing in her absence, missing out on interactions with her children and wondering when she will regain control of that life.

It is breaking my heart.

Being Thankful-One year and seven days later

theycallmebettyLeave a comment

Another Thanksgiving has come and gone. I browsed briefly through many blogs this afternoon all touting the importance of being thankful and although I hate jumping on any blog bandwagon (Ferguson), I find that this evening in particular thankfulness shall abound and with good reason.

One year and seven days ago I stood in an arena, working a cute grey mare, getting her in shape to practice hard during the off-season. At 11:40 am my phone rang and through trembling voice my wife informed me she needed to head towards Vallejo Kaiser immediately or she might die.

Think about that for a moment.

A seemingly perfect day, slightly overcast and a little chilly brought to a screeching halt, turned upside down because of one single phone call and the words “I might die”. I have been dealt this card before so my recollection powers are incredibly strong and as I type the smell of cold wet sand and winter eucalyptus trees fill my senses. A moment captured forever deep within my brain.

One year and seven days ago our world changed forever. Although we try, it’s like the ghost in the closet, the elephant in the room, the fat lady who hasn’t sung yet. It is just there.

One year and seven days ago, I didn’t know if there was going to be a forever for her and me. I cried, hard, then did what I always do; Sat down, absorbed all the information, shut my mouth for a while, and developed a plan.

One year and seven days ago my friends, people I have known and cared about knocked on my door, called me, walked into my home and said nothing more than: how can we help? I have never been good at accepting help, I am a helper by nature not a recipient, but all that changed and they assured me with love that I had no say in the matter.

One year and seven days ago my children sat dumbfounded, confused, and unable to comprehend exactly what was going on. Words like chemotherapy, drugs, cancer, Leukemia, blood cells, and sick all became a staple of conversation in their worlds. They never quite knew how to take it all, the thought that their mother might die, but they did in their own ways. It changed them a little, I am not sure what the lasting effect will be, only time will tell.

One year and seven days ago a six month odyssey began with month-long stays in the hospital, missing most of our high schoolers senior year, juggling a family with the help of friends, multiple midnight runs to the emergency room, nights alone wondering if she was going to die, nights in bed with her wondering if she was going to die. Days knowing she would be alright only to be slapped in the face with another trip to the hospital. Days of triumph and love, nights of cursing our life and the strain it was bringing to our family and to her. Nights of praising God for the reprieves, and slowly understanding things were going to get better.

One year ago today we had Thanksgiving in our house. The meal was completely prepared by friends, family and strangers. It was amazing that so many people cared about us, our family and our children to the extent of ensuring we had a thanksgiving meal. We Facetimed with Jacy that night and before desert could be dished I was back on the road, heading to Kaiser to sit with my wife, thankful to be able to do so thanks to a rapid diagnosis by an extraordinary young doctor and a myriad of family and friends watching my children.

Tonight, my wife lies next to me asleep from a long day of travel and family. She is not perfect, she may never be the same as she was before, although it won’t be for a lack of trying. Her emotions are still raw from 6 months of chemo-hell, her brain struggles with the after effects of chemotherapy at times which leaves her frustrated and her body is always doing strange things. We don’t know how long chemo-brain will last, we don’t know how long her body will continue to hold her down when it comes to strenuous activities and we don’t know if the leukemia will come back in one year, five years or never. But put all that aside and what you’re left with is one mother of four who can hug and kiss her children and to date is cancer free.

For that, on this Thanksgiving Day, I am thankful….

The Face of Leukemia…. The call…

theycallmebetty3 Comments

Unknown-18

The call came through, I stared as it rang, the glaring eyes of my wife looking back through a pixel image formed from technology. Only 90 minutes into my shift I was fairly certain this call would center around a current general lack of respect shown by our children as of late. Between Jake’s consistent arguing, instagramming, snapchattering, compulsive behavior, or Jessica’s continual chip on her shoulder aimed at the entire world, Parkers inability to rise above 4 years of age at times and Cody’s, well Cody being Cody, it was fairly obvious a parental conference to line up our offensive, gathering ammunition and supplies for after school encounters was on the horizon.

Yet when answering the phone there was not the snap of an edgy, irritated Cuban woman whom I have grown so fond of but instead all that could be heard was a whimper. A demure, silent, almost mouse like squeak from the other end of the line. I sat up from my chair quickly, startling my co-workers as I pronounced; Jacy whats wrong! Still just a whisper, almost unrecognizable in stillness. Again even more stern, my tone changing with the rapid fire of my heart rate: JACY HONEY WHAT IS WRONG? ARE YOU OK?

With the whisper of an angel, a serene, quiet message arrived within the confines of my almost deaf, aging ears.

Its gone….

Whats gone? What is gone? Who? Is your dad ok? Is my dad ok? Are there any animals missing? What is gone? I don’t understand!

It is gone, fumbles from her lips one more time. The sound of a cracked voice, a strained quivering lip, a sniffle as mucus forms to join a plunging tear.

Honey, she called, it is gone, the cancer, its gone!

Is this a joke? Wait how does she know, man I wish I had another cup of coffee this just isn’t making sense!

Then it hits me. Three days before we went in for what we prayed would be the final bone marrow draw to determine if Jacy was indeed cancer free or if we were headed to Stanford for more Chemotherapy and an eventual bone marrow transplant. In those three days, with all that had been transpiring around us, I callously had forgotten.

ITS GONE! ITS FREAKING GONE! THE CANCER IS GONE!!!

Slowly but surely, my voice raises, not able to contain my happiness a shout of joy can be heard throughout the firehouse as I turn to my crew, my brothers, the family I spend one-third of my life with, the same family that supported our family 100% over the last six months. It is gone I say, the cancer is GONE!!!! Everyone is excited, I am excited, my heart is pounding, I can’t catch my breath, It is gone…

I tell my wife I love her, we both cry. A feeling of weight lifts from my shoulders, I want nothing more than to run away from work, go hug my wife and spend the day with her, talking about something we havent talked about in six long months.

The future.

My wife, my friend, Jacy Mirelle Franceschi was given a challenge six long months ago. The challenge was to beat Cancer. In that time she accepted, rejected and accepted that very challenge several times over. I knew my wife had it in her, she is the strongest, most stubborn woman I have ever met! I prayed a lot in the beginning, not for me, but strength for her. I coined a phrase and we adopted that phrase. Kicking cancers ass one cell at a time! A dear family friend formed an Army, and with it Jacys Army came to life, bringing support and love, along with a town that surrounded us. We (Jacy and I) never have done anything special, we both did not feel we deserved this attention but it didn’t matter, one by one they all came to our aid, joining Jacys army, supporting this cause and it worked! We did it, we ALL did it! My wife kicked cancers ass one cell at a time!

The cancer is gone. How we both longed to hear those words.

Yes, AML can return, Yes we will be ever vigilant for the rest of our lives, one wrong sniffle, a feeling of being run down, a blood draw or marrow test will never be missed. But today, moving forward, the woman I love is cancer free!

Feeling like Rocky Balboa after a fight, fist raised in the air, screaming for Adrian, but he just cant get to her. That is the way I felt at work when I got the call. The battle was over, the victor stood tall, but I just couldn’t get to my love to tell her how I felt, to have her look into my eyes and reconfirmed it to be true. Oh well it appears I just may have the rest of my life to do just that.

The cancers gone, the cancer is gone.

images-23

To my family, friends and co-workers, to the citizens of Dixon, to the followers of my blog and to everyone who held a kind word, said a prayer, shook my hand, hugged me, told me all would be ok. To Jacys Army, the meal train participants, the fundraisers, to all the wonderful cancer survivors I have spoken with, thank you. Thank you all from the bottom of my heart. It is because of all of you that we survived this incredible ordeal. I love you all… 

The finish line is near!!!

theycallmebetty2 Comments

ribbon

So many things in life we take for granted. The simplest of acts become mundane, automatic, without drive or thought. Yet when we see someone struggling to perform a “simple” act; walking across the street or sitting down unassisted, putting on clothing without an obvious look of disarray.  Read, anything, without confusion or hold a conversation without trailing off into never never land.  Our thought process leads us to feel pity, we take stock upon ourselves and wonder how we would survive under these conditions.

I have witnessed my wife over an almost six month period transcend from a vibrant, healthy, athletic, intelligent woman to a human being half her size, barely able to walk under her own power, not able to finish a sentence or complete a thought without frustration or mental exhaustion. A woman who traveled the world to one not able to rise from her bed while trapped inside a white four walled hospital room cell.

She cried, I cried, she longed to come home, I longed to have her home, she felt as though life was passing her by, I felt as though our life was passing us by, she fought hard, I fought hard. Cancer/Leukemia is no joke. Chemotherapy is no joke. My understanding of all we take for granted in our lives now runs very deep.

Thank you Jacy.

Now you are probably wondering why I am thanking my wife? But what you don’t understand is without her none of this could or would have been possible. The “this” I am referring to is compassion, strength, love, anger, inspiration.

Jacy Franceschi proclaimed while holding my hand on November 20 2013 that she would beat Cancer. She thanked the lord for blessing her with this challenge, she apologized to him in prayer for she didn’t understand why it had to be her but she was willing to accept what lay before her. We looked into each others eyes, she proceeded to ask what I was thinking. I told her if anyone could beat cancer it was her. We talked about fear, our love and the future we were going to have together. We cried some more…

After sitting in the hospital our first night I vowed to make her life as seamless as possible while we traveled along this journey.  It took a lot of hard work but I am pretty sure I succeeded.

She says I was her rock. Yet she was just as much mine. She says I always made her smile and laugh when she felt horrible. In reality she made me laugh as only my wife knows how. She said without me she would never have made it. In reality because of her when I was tired or hurt I never complained, after 18 hour days of hospital time, childrens needs and the ranch, it was the thought of being able to see her the next day that kept me going.

Because of my wife our life needs to slow down, and because of Cancer it finally will.

We never know how long we have, we never know the exact moment of time it will all come to an end. But what we do know how to do is live for the here and now. What we do know how to do is accept what is given and forgive what is not. What we do know how to do is love one another for every minute of every second of every day. What we do know how to do is not waste our precious time here on earth.

Inspiration comes in many forms and as I found out over the last 6 months, mine comes from my wife and hers comes from me.

November 20, 2014 the world felt as though it would end.  November 22, 2014 we found out had she not gone to the doctor when she did, she most likely would have passed away a week later. Here today April 22, 2014 the darkness is gone, we are still a week away from a final bone marrow draw, we are still a week away from hearing those words we have been longing to hear.

The sky is bright, and so is our future. She is becoming incredibly stronger each day, I feel blessed to share every moment with her possible. I feel this chapter coming to a close, and I cannot wait to see what the next chapter holds, for her, for me, for our children.

Life is good… Thank you Jacy, I love you..

205227_500224146658813_1005775143_n

Does the sun set on Leukemia?

theycallmebetty1 Comment

imagesCAZS4DUC

“To run and fly, jump towards the sky, to trip and fall where no one see’s at all, to sit and wait a heart truly aches, to smile and cheer dread no longer feared, mired not in contempt an energy much better spent, to enjoy every moment with my wife, now wouldn’t that be a splendid life…”

The sun has risen and set upon 180 days, 4,320 hours, 259,200 minutes, 15,552,000 seconds. Time that for most was nothing more than a passing blip in an otherwise hectic day. Coming events, moments sectored into fragments, blocks, bullet points upon a schedule where children are dropped at school, animals are fed, meetings are kept, practices attended, showers to be had and pillows to be slept upon.

The sun rose and the sun set. Under a bright fall moon one woman gazed upon the stars to ask why? To cry tears of fear, sadness and remorse. A woman pleaded with her God for an answer but was left momentarily in silence. A woman stared into a nights sky, thinking about childhood, college, adulthood and the love for a life lived. Hoping beyond hope all this would be was another bump in the road and she would live to see her adult children stand on a balcony under a full moon and not ask God why, but say thanks for all he has provided.

180 days. A man knelt in an arena and cried. Not for himself for you see he has walked the road of sadness many, many times in his life. But for his wife. This man who lives to ease his families burdens and carry their pain could do nothing to make this next challenge in life any easier. He could not reach inside his wife and yank out the evil that surged within, instead he would need to remain patient. To willingly wait, and know when to speak and when to say silent. To understand he could not fix everything and that was ok. As those 180 days passed by slowly without rest or sleep, he would come to value the meaning of just being there by her side and knowing that was enough. He learned to cradle and quietly without judgment let the water flow upon his chest through sobbing breaths. He would become stronger with each bought, each treatment and the ensuing moral disintegration of spirit. This man, he also prayed to stand hand in hand with his wife while watching their adult children thank the lord for all he has provided.

The sun rises and the sun sets. How many more days remain? An answer none of us know, will know or should know. Life is a gift of love. It started with our parents, two people who at one time loved each other so much we came to fruition. Some parents still love each other that much, others sadly do not, but either way we are here, living breathing examples of a look, a word, a time, a kiss an embrace.  Carrying on a legacy that is ours to write, shape, mold into a future for ourselves and quite possibly through the absolute love of another, our children.

Jacy is alive, Leukemia has not taken her from this earth. 180 days of literal HELL she has survived thus far. We are told she holds the perfect genetic markers for success. In two more weeks another bone marrow draw will provide proof in the proverbial pudding. Two years cancer free and our celebrations will become larger with each passing moment in time.

She worries about damage done, all she has lost both mentally and physically, she worries she may never feel whole again. To those worries I say:

“Gentlemen, we can rebuild her. We have the technology. We have the capability to build the world’s first bionic Leukemia survivor. Jacy Franceschi will be that woman. Better than she was before. Better, stronger, faster.” images

Sorry, late 70’s humor..

Two years, a little by little everyday until this all becomes a story of survival, a distant memory, an experience to draw upon during life’s trials and tribulations. Sure it will be difficult, yes it will become frustrating and even embarrassing at times, but in the end, my wife will be whole.  My life will be whole again, and how I long for that day.

Thank you again to all who have supported us, never left our sides as the going continued to get rough.  This is the end, I feel it in my bones. In two weeks celebrations of joy will ring true and none of it could have been done without all of you! You are all my Rock, helping hold me up so I may continue to be hers.  I love you all, you know who you are!

The power of thought and prayer is amazing! God bless you all…

images-18

 

Betty (James) has entered a new venture to help make ends meet during this trying time. I am proud to say I am now a distributor for Javita Weight Loss Coffee products. Javita Green Tea has kept me running strong through every hospital trip, late night Emergency Room run and long days handling the ranch, kids and sporting activities alone! I can’t say enough about this great product.

So if you are looking to lose a few pounds by simply drinking coffee, or need the mental stimulation and health benefits of pure unrefined green tea. Then please take a moment and explore http://www.buyjavitacoffee.com/javabetty and order some today. You wont be sorry. I promise, plus every purchase made helps keep my wife home a little longer for recovery.

Bless you all,

Betty

The Face of Leukemia

theycallmebetty1 Comment

 

photo 1

The face of Leukemia is slowly starting to smile again. Her radiance glowing from under the shroud of another long stay. Its been another 8 long grueling days of high fevers, infections, blood work with crazy numbers, CT scans, swollen lymph nodes and skin so irritated that touching it or an accidental rub or scratch would leave strange marks.

This week Jacy endured another week long headache from hell, nausea, and a colossal loss of appetite. She lost more weight, became so fatigued that walking from the bed to the bathroom left her exhausted. She hallucinated under the spell of multiple pain medications and tried her best not to throw up when anyone was around.  The face of Leukemia has been drug through the trenches, fought the war, wiped the sweat from her brow then laid still wondering if there was more.  and there was…

Under the covers on top of the bed, warm or cold, drenched in sweat or so hot and dry the desert looks cool.  All this woman can think of is coming home to see her babies, her children, to be normal, a mom like any other.  The face of Leukemia is yearning to tell her kids to clean up their rooms, help them with homework, watch them ride their horses or simply walk by an open door at night, only to peek in and watch them sleeping peacefully.

No longer do the simple things in life feel mundane.  Nothing is taken for granted; for you see when the better part of 5 months has left you strapped to a hospital bed going through the metabolic changes her body has endured, something so simple as making school lunches for the ones you love feels like striking gold.  When you have nothing but time, and are trapped in a room with no hopes of escape the world begins to look different and so by her own admission, it has changed.

As for me. I can’t wait until she comes home. My children are the most awesome individuals I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.  They screw up and make mistakes like any other children but they are mine.  But no matter how hard I try a child needs it mom.  There are only so many things I can do or say to make-believe everything is all right. But children are not stupid, they see the distress upon my face, the furrow in my brow, they feel when my temper has shortened and patience worn thin.  They adjust, they try, but stability still needs to reign for normalcy to occur.

It has been a good long stretch since I have seen her million dollar smile; understandably so, yet it is what I long for. To see her strong, to see her laugh, to see her ride a horse again, to see her walk a set of stairs without becoming winded and then saddened for the memory of what she used to be. To see her triumph.

As for me? As for me, I have decided my problems shouldnt matter. My complaints are small, may pains irrelevant, my loss of sleep inconsequential, my stress load manageable. For as for me, I don’t have cancer, I have a healthy body, therefore I have no complaints.

Today she smiled, I surprised her while dropping a patient off at the ER. Popping in for a just a minute! Walking down the corridor I came to her room, slowly turned the handle and walked in, she was propped up, texting. I said in an altered deep voice: Excuse me mam we are going to need to palpate your abdominal area, can you please undress for me. With a startle she jumped, seeing it was me, she smiled. A big giant smile! The most beautiful smile I had seen in a very long time. It made my day, it made her day as she was happy and surprised to see me.  It was only for a few minutes as my Engine company needed to go, but she smiled. It was radiant, it was warm, she was beautiful.

The face of Leukemia is smiling…

Which must mean Cancer is losing….

photo 2

http://www.myjavita.com/javabetty

 

Keep Calm, its only been five months..

theycallmebetty3 Comments

keep calm

(I apologize for not having written in a while, and though this isn’t the best, it hopefully will at least allow you all to know where I am at mentally)

Over the last 5 months plenty of time has passed for me to ponder the ramifications associated with cancer.

Endless days and even longer nights leaving me sleepless, cold, worried, angry, happy, sad, confused, and exhausted.  Staring outwards into a twinkling nights sky, or straight down at my feet, lost, strained, asking God why.  Ramifications indeed..

I have held a little boy who doesn’t understand why his mom needs to be gone all the time.  One day at home then vanished into thin air, only to reappear 7-14 days later looking gaunt, pale and exhausted.  This recurring abnormality in domestic motherhood  just doesn’t compute in a 9 year olds brain.  He needs his dad alright but there is nothing like the hug his mom can bestow upon him and the smile that shines on his face afterwards.

I have driven to games, practices, and rodeos alone. Elicited the help of many wonderful caring friends who dropped what they were doing without so much as a whimper to ensure my family was cared for in my absence. Helped (not well, but hey who said I was smart) with homework, read books and had books read to me, washed laundry, cleaned dishes, scrubbed floors, toilets, windows and walls. Watered flowers, cared for dogs, horses, goats and chickens.  Folded laundry until 2 in the morning to ensure everyone had the right clothes for school, baseball, softball, hunting, etc…. And yes in a very strange bedraggled way I have cherished every minute.

Don’t get me wrong I performed all of those tasks prior to Jacy becoming sick as well, but they were shared tasks, and as with all relationships, some portions were performed by a certain partner because that partner excelled in one area over the other. Laundry has always been kind of my thing,(especially the folding portion) where as homework has always been Jacy’s (college grad/teacher and all).

Cancer has brought my children closer to me, helped me understand a little more of who they are as people.  From seeing them handle this situation with their mother, to the inspiring abilities shown by the ones who have stepped up their games around the house during this time.  Their interaction with the hoards of caring people stopping by our house or cornering them in a park, they have all made me proud. It has been a very hard, long frustrating road, but that road has also been filled with love, understanding, caring and commitment.

Cancer also filled my heart with fear.  For every great moment I shared with our children, there was fear that Jacy would never see those moments.  Fear our children would become used to their mom not being around, fear that she would not win this fight and the children would be left devastated, emotionless voids.  Never remembering their childhood has one filled with great adventures, laughter, family and fun, but of the time their mother contracted Leukemia and perished. No child should watch their mother die. My fear is entrenched in losing faith. Something I have always had, a security which has kept me strong my entire life.  Fear I will lose that feeling of always “knowing” what to do, how to behave, which direction to travel. Its faith which has kept me solid in those beliefs, it is my faith in God which has laid a foundation for me to build upon. Yet what if my faith eludes me? What then? More fear.

Up days and down days, days filled with forgetfulness, days filled with unexplainable irritability, days filled with an abundance of love, and days filled with dizziness, nausea and sleep.  These are the emotional stages Jacy travels through.  Highest of highs and lowest of lows.  It’s a hard ride for me at times and it’s always an even harder ride for her. Yet each day is one day closer to the treatments being over, her body trying to heal itself and our lives returning to some form of normalcy.

She came home from her last treatment on Sunday.  It was a day of joy. Only two more weeks of blood transfusions and testing, cumulating into a bone marrow draw somewhere during the third or fourth week.  Many days ahead filled with more fears, watching her body decline time after time until her blood cells, both white and red begin producing normally on their own.  Then waiting..

Fingers crossed, all goes well and Jacy will be able to finally claim to be cancer free! Over the next couple of years she will do her best to lead a relaxed, non stressed lifestyle and we will continue to pray Leukemia never returns.

5 months, five long and lonely months.  I miss my friend, my spouse, the woman I love.  To have her home and whole will indeed be a blessing.  For five months I have slept alone many nights and like the true idiot I am, I never once slept in the middle of the bed! Always on my little 6 inch wide portion, leaving her side (which is 3/4’s the mattress) undisturbed. Out of habit or respect, I do not know, but wow, what an idiot! I really blew an opportunity to really stretch out and sleep like a king! It’s no wonder I never got any sleep! Oh well I digress….

A light is truly at the end of the tunnel, we can see it. Keep a prayer for us please, prayer is a powerful thing and I believe it helps keep my faith alive and her healing powers strong.

More to come, God bless you all…

cookie

 

 

 

A Man of Constant Sorrow

theycallmebetty5 Comments

 

images-18

 

I am sorry I havent written in a few weeks…

Life events have a way of giving or changing perspective, enlightening or suppressing emotions, giving one pause or setting one free.  This last week has been a complete disaster for me personally, leaving me overwhelmed, under the weather, lethargic, sad, and generally abandoned of feeling. Leukemia brings with it storied highs and tremendous lows, leaving its target families trying their best to muddle along somewhere in the middle.

The Saturday before last I toddled off to work as a very happy Ms. Jacy was home safe and sound, with children and a host of good friends checking in on her throughout the day. By noon a leukemia sized storm was brewing as she slowly began spiking a fever while feeling  a tad ill.  Refusing to admit something wasnt quite right (the hard-headed Cuban in her) she scoffed at my inquires and thwarted my meddling from afar. Finally after several rebuffed suggestions this woman of mine caved into peer pressure brought forth from one equally stubborn, very close family friend.  Against her own better judgement she climbed into said friends car and headed for the hospital.

Not a minute to soon

Upon arriving in the ER, blood was drawn, counts determined to be low and her fever began spiking at 102 degrees.  Jacy also began feeling a heightened pain around her Powerport insertion site in combination with redness and some swelling.  She called to give me an update, and as I worried about her well-being Jacy promptly cut me short, telling me to stay at work, all would be fine as our friend was staying with her.  What she didn’t know, what we couldn’t know was this was the beginning of a 6 day hospital stay that would bring more pain, tears, depression, anger, nausea, and hatred.  All emotions geared towards a level of care, a lack of information and a medication induced headache that would rival even the most severe pain ever experienced in her life.

Ms. Jacy had developed an infection within her port, most dangerous considering it is a direct line to her heart.  This brought an uneasy rest, fear and for a moment a feeling as though this just can’t go on any longer. Her days were filled with delirium, nausea and a much-needed (at times) drug induced sleep.

In a 6 day period I laid awake almost every night, worrying about her. Whether the infection was worse, whether or not the nurses (not chemo nurses mind you) had the right medications at the right time, are they administering blood transfusions at the right rates and have they given her the appropriate pre-meds prior to delivering the product. What are her plasma counts and if they are being taken into consideration why are her platelet counts so low? Yep every question I could think of running through my brain at all hours of the day and night.  Throw in taking care of the children, making sure they weren’t scared or worried about mommy being in the hospital again, ensuring the littlest one Parker understands whats happening since it seems every time he goes to school and mommy promises she will be home when he returns, she is not. Throw in household chores and our ranch (including one escaped horse at 3 in the morning), it was indeed a long sleepless week.

Now as I have said before, I wasnt alone. My barn people came through as always, allowing me the freedom to only do a limited amount of chores, and the flexibility to leave at the drop of a hat. Close family friends were always on other end of the line, asking, pleading for anything they could do to help.  And last but not least the constant array of giving people who have helped with dinner for our family.  I am incredibly thankful for you all..

But my brain, that dirty little Dura-matter, neurological, master piece floating inside this thick head.  If only I could shut it off for more than an hour, it would be grand.  If only I could turn off the constant questioning, turn down the vast medical knowledge that spins so freely inside.  Tricking me, scaring me, giving me panic attacks in the middle of the night! If only..

To sleep an entire night without nightmares, or wake up sweaty and cold reaching, feeling, to find no one there only to remember she is housed on floor two, room 213, alone, crying, sleeping, covering her head with ice and wondering why this is happening to her. Wanting to hold her, make it all go away, pretend it’s never happened. Is that too much to ask?

I am usually very positive, bringing the uplifting thoughts and prayers, trying my best to understand the meaning in any moment or given time. But  lately it is getting harder and harder.  Watching her cry, feeling her sorrow, asking herself; why me? Feeling utterly helpless.  I am a fixer, it is in my nature.  If there is a problem I fix it, I don’t wish to sit around and ponder a problem, cry over the problem, I just want to fix it! I can’t fix this! I can’t take it away! I can’t make her feel better about herself! I can’t help her to understand how beautiful she is, both inside and out! Cancer is chipping away at her confidence. Her kiss is still the same, her smile is still the same, her eyes still light up my heart! Cancer can’t possibly take those truths away! But it is trying very hard mentally.

So I can’t fix it, a hard pill to swallow, and with that, my sorrow continues.  

I was raised to believe a good husband protects his wife, shields her from ugly, sadness and pain.  That as her partner it is my job to carry this load. My responsibility to take her hand and lead her through this journey, minimizing the painful effects, bearing that burden.  But what you don’t know, what you don’t understand until you are lying in bed with a million medical “what if’s” running through your head is Cancer don’t give a fuck how you were raised. Cancer doesn’t care what your ethics are, or the belief system by which they are supported. Cancer only cares about cancer, tearing down its host from the inside out, one cell at a time. Cancer teases its victim and family with good days then pummels them with bad.  In the end, you lay there, ice on your head, missing your loved ones, crying because you are alone, listening to machines beep and click, while nurses poke you, prod at you, and take your vitals every 15 minutes, yet you remain trapped in a room you cannot leave.  Oh you want to leave, the door is right there, but that I.V. octopus has its tentacles forced deep down within your veins, keeping you from moving any farther than the restroom. Humiliated in an open back robe, red sock slippers and mesh net hospital underwear.  In the end cancer not only feels like its killing you, but as though its killing your spouse as well.

I know, its tearing me apart on the inside. Many days there is a smile upon my face, but deep down, I am not there, my sorrow holds strong as I think about my wife either in the hospital or at home, dizzy, forgetting things, some days struggling just to walk down the stairs. Cancer is a rat bastard and I hate it! I hate what it represents, I hate the chemotherapy (yes I blame Cancer but in reality it is really the chemotherapy) killing my wife slowly from the inside out, I hate that it is quietly wreaking havoc on our children, reaching out with its bony finger of gloom,  forever changing our lives.

I hate feeling like a man of constant sorrow.

Unknown-4