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. 

Packing my bags for Salt Lake City....

My dad is a person living with cancer. 

He's an amazing dad, fun to be around and when you talk to him, he makes you feel like what you have to say is important. 

He often mispronounces names, blares a certain news channel a little too loud for my taste, and tapes his favorite slippers together with duct tape.

When he's home and not undergoing treatment, he drives other people, those who don't have rides, to get their chemotherapy. He sits in the waiting room and waits for them, as long as it takes, then drives them home.

If you knew him, you would like him. Everybody does. 

Tomorrow I'm flying to Salt Lake City, UT to be with he and my mom as he undergoes his 3rd bone marrow transplant. 

They only give you the transplant because first they give you a lethal dose of chemo. The transplant saves your life.

Administration of the chemo and the subsequent transplant of stem cells is done completely outpatient and is almost a non-event. 

But the recovery.... that's a whole other story.

I'm nervous to leave my four babies for the weekend.... ugh, can't even think about it.

I've never been away from Colin for more than one night, two days.... and that was one time. But they will all be in good hands with my husband and in-laws. And I know I'm doing the right thing.... for me.

My dad is a person who lives life to the fullest and although the reason for this trip is certainly one I'd never choose, we're going to have a great time together. 

Always do.

Complete Remission!

Just got word that my father's cancer remains in complete remission.

I feel relief, joy, thankfulness.

Every six months, my dad flys back to the Huntsman Cancer Institute in Salt Lake City, Utah, gets poked and prodded and then meets with his doctor to hear if his cancer has returned.

One of the ugliest aspects of multiple myeloma is that although you can achieve complete remission, as of now, there is no actual cure. I hate that part. But I will take complete remission.

My father's doctor is Dr. Tricot. He is a brilliant man who dedicates his time, brain and energy to researching and treating multiple myeloma. I've never met him and yet I feel so indebted to him. I imagine what it'd be like if I ever were to meet him. What would I say? How do you even begin to thank a man who manages to keep your loved one alive? There are no words.

Sure, my dad has great will to live and an enviable positive attitude. But that's just part of it. In order to beat this disease, you need outstanding care. Not only has Dr. Tricot provided the most aggressive, effective treatment possible, but he does it in a caring and compassionate manner.

I'm just so thankful that somehow, through a series of coincidence, guidance, and fate, we found Dr. Tricot. I pray other families who find themselves facing cancer, can also find their Dr. Tricot.