I Choose Hope

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It hasn’t happened often, but when it rears its ugly head, it's suffocating. Physically painful. Mentally draining. Paula’s Pity Parties. Those moments when, without warning, all the darkest thoughts – the ‘Why Hubby?” despair - overshadows every waking moment. I find myself going through motions, consumed with a crushing sadness. Moved to tears by a song on my playlist from happier days. Trying to disrupt the dark mood with deep breaths and audible, head shaking sighs.

In the month since Hubby’s terrifying - and dramatic – adverse reaction to chemo, and the subject of my last post I have canceled (almost) all appointments with Pitiful Paula, focusing instead on playdates with Hope and Happiness. It hasn’t always been easy…

March of the Missing Penguin Pin: Previous blogs tell the entire story of this priceless piece of jewelry. The Pin was presented to me by P3 when Hubby was first diagnosed. Since then it has accompanied me to most social functions, and an occasional Target run! When it’s not in its place of honor on my sweater or jacket, it gets tucked into a small box on my bathroom counter.

Yesterday, in a hurry to get out the door to attend a luncheon with my Penguin pals, I opened the box to grab The Pin. It wasn’t there. “I must have left it on my denim jacket” I thought, hurrying to the closet to retrieve it from its perch. No Pin. My heart raced for a few seconds – and I was late for a very important luncheon. I forced myself not to panic, and headed out the door – Pinless. As I drove, I mentally retraced my steps, and remembered one place I hadn’t checked. For a moment I considered a detour to snatch The Pin before meeting the ‘Guins. But time - and California driving laws forbidding U-turns on Highway 101 - dissuaded me. I arrived, unadorned, to welcome hugs from my penguin “huddle”!

I was all smiles as we enjoyed each other’s company over bloody Mary’s and chardonnay, but my worry over The Pin was unshakable. I couldn’t imagine telling my friends I was responsible for losing the most treasured, shared ebony/mother of pearl symbol of our almost 40 years of friendship. I let Pitiful Paula get in my head – she expressed the worst of all possible thoughts. Was The Pin's disappearance an omen for another, more devastating loss? More deep breaths and another audible, head shaking sigh. C’mon Hope. I need you more than ever!

For the next several hours I hunted. Searched every article of clothing, Dug through cupboards, cars and crevices. Calls were made to the restaurant I last remember wearing it. Tears flowed as I confided to Daughter, and later to P3, my negligence in not having replaced The Pin for safe keeping. Hubby did his best to comfort me. Daughter reminded me it’s “just a thing”. The memories are forever, and a new penguin pin could carry on the tradition. P3 philosophically suggested the finder must have needed it more than I. In our hour long phone call, I used the time to re-search my closet and drawers while conversation turned to the more typical subjects – P3’s new home décor, and assorted gal talk. Worry had temporarily been sidelined when, with the sweep of some summer tops hung above a closet shelf, the unmistakable shape appeared. THE PIN! “I FOUND IT!” I screamed into the phone as I clutched it and ran downstairs to Hubby’s open arms. P3 cried happy tears on the other end of our call. My worry and doomsday assumptions had done nothing but muzzle my daily dose of hope and happiness. The happy ending was validation that hope reigns.

I spy with my little eye....

 I Can’t Believe This Happened: I am thrilled to report Hubby’s dialysis is history and the catheter has been surgically removed, leaving just one implant – the infusion port – taking up valuable real estate on his chest. He is showering again, sans the plastic wrapped and waterproof-taped protuberance. And no more kitchen sink shampoo dates with me!

Cath-free Hubby and I headed to Chemo Round 3 this week with the usual trepidation and unavoidable worry about a possible rerun of the post-chemo crisis that had landed him in the hospital four weeks earlier. Doctor A. met with us before the infusion and found Hubby in a sad and somber mood. Moments before, as he awaited the pre-chemo ritual of vitals and bloodwork, Hubby was lost in a pensive moment, his usual humor overtaken with damp eyes and a faraway stare. As I took his hand, he said, “I can’t believe this happened to me. Six months ago I was healthy…(sigh) …oh well.” It was Hubby’s first Pity Party and it broke my heart. When his nurse asked him why he was sad, he replied “I’m not sad. I’m mad.” He had every right to be angry, and I made the decision to forego my usual “Paula-anna” put-on-a-happy-face pep talk. I allowed him to process his mood without intervention. Hand holding was all I could provide as I wiped away my own tears.

Hopeful Hubby

When Dr. A met with us moments later, he reported the pre-chemo bloodwork showed improved liver and kidney function. Every indication pointed to smooth sailing with the dreaded 48 hour infusion pump Hubby would take home, and he insisted I call any hour of the day or night if said “ship” headed off course. My questions about future treatment options were answered with assurances that he would be aggressive in seeking alternatives (hello, clinical trials), if and when current chemo was deemed ineffective. His voice was filled with hope for Hubby. We all knew the harsh reality, but Doctor A. focused on what could be done. Hubby’s demeanor immediately changed. His shoulders carried less weight in those moments, and we shared a hug absent of worry, living in the present with positive thoughts for the future. Score one for hope!

My week of replacing worry with hope taught me valuable lessons for navigating Hubby’s cancer journey. It’s still a work in progress, and I know future bouts of negativity are inevitable. In a perfectly timed prologue to my “I Choose Hope” project, a gloriously happy floral bouquet was delivered – the third of its kind in consecutive weeks – from my pre-retirement work family, accompanied with an inspirational quote.

“Worry does not empty tomorrow of sorrow.

It empties today of its strength.”

I can’t deny worry is present every day. How could it not be? But I’m determined to keep it from consuming me. Hubby is living each day, staying in the moment. His birthday tomorrow will be emotional for everyone. Amid the birthday cheer, I choose to mute the unspeakable thoughts - as I expect will be the case with everyone sharing his special day. I am determined to set my autopilot on Hope and Happiness each and every day - staying #KahunaStrong. Wish me luck!