Complete Remission

Today, there are no sweeter words to my ears.

As I've written before, my Dad lives with cancer. Multiple Myeloma to be specific.

It doesn't rule his life... not by a long shot. And so in turn, it doesn't rule ours.

But it's there. The knowledge that my Dad lives with cancer is always there.

His life is filled with joy, laughter, grandchildren, friends and adventures. It's also filled with chemotherapy- years of chemotherapy, numerous medications, daily shots, and more bone marrow biopsies than I can even count at this point. I think he's lost count too. There are times he can't visit because his counts are too low and his immune system is too weak. There have been bone marrow transplants, scary time periods, and the time he came out of remission.

I remember everything about the hospital room we were sitting in when he told me he had cancer back in 2005. I remember every detail and how carefully he chose his words. He knew I wasn't going to like this news, not by a long shot. I'll also never forget where I was sitting or what he was wearing when he told me that he'd come out of remission and faced yet another bone marrow transplant and another two years of chemo. We were all at the beach, on vacation. We talked about it and then enjoyed the rest of our trip. Just like always, cancer was there, but it didn't rule our lives. Not even close. If anything, it's reminded us to be grateful of time spent together. Every bit of it.

Yes, cancer is a part of our family life. And if my Dad can somehow make peace with that, well, then I can too.

I truly have.

But every three months we wait with bated breath to hear where his cancer levels are at.

This morning we were just leaving the farmer's market when I got the news via a text message sent to all of us.

Complete remission.

And just like that I relax again.

Complete remission. 

Sweet words indeed.

Home

This morning, 6 a.m. and ready to play! 

Back home in Chicago!

I could hardly wait to hug and kiss my boys. 

Chris did an awesome job of caring for them as they were all still in one piece when he picked me up.

I also feel so grateful to my in-laws who took them all in, kept Chris feed and helped out with the boys.

My weekend in Salt Lake was really really nice and I'm so glad I went. My Dad was still feeling pretty good after his round of chemo on Friday so Saturday and Sunday we were able to explore the city a bit, try a yummy new restaurant, and go for a walk. 

On Monday my dad received melphalan, a wicked chemo (not that any are easy to take but this one is really no fun!) but one that will hammer the myeloma. He receives his stem cells today and then begins the slow decline into what he calls, "the valley". The only way out is through!

As we sat in the infusion room amongst many others also living with cancer and watched the cocktail of drugs slowly dripping into people's ports, I kept thinking about a few things:

1. . It sucks to watch someone you love walk through fire

2. No one gets through this life without challenges

3. While we often can't control the challenges that arise, we can choose how we respond

4. Family and friends are EVERYTHING in this life

5. Dr. Tricot rocks!

6. Huntsman Cancer Hospital is a wonderful place, filled with smart and caring staff

A few examples of why I find Huntsman exceptional:

They offer free valet parking every time you arrive and they greet you with a big smile

While in the infusion room, around noon someone walks through and says, "Mr. Mooney, what can I bring you for lunch?"

There's a wellness center with things like yoga, acupuncture, nutrition education, counseling... all free for patients and their caregivers. 

The view is incredible. 

View from just outside the infusion room

The hospital sits half way up the mountain and overlooks the whole city and valley. I only had my iphone with me so my pictures don't do it justice but trust me. If you have to be treated for cancer, you may as well have this peaceful view while undergoing the treatment. 

And because you never know who might randomly stumble across this post, I feel I should say that 

if you or someone you love is diagnosed with myeloma, there's a lot to be very hopeful about. The statistics that come up when you google myeloma often don't reflect the most current, exciting, and hopeful treatment advances that are happening every day. 

My dad's life is very full and wonderful and as soon as this most recent transplant is behind him, he'll return to it.