Clear road ahead - no known construction or detours!

I'm not saying that I'm cured of cancer--that probably will never happen--but Keytruda and my immune system seem to be controlling its growth well. 

The metastasized spots in the liver and bones are no longer visible; there are still spots in my lungs that have not grown since the last CAT or whatever they do, and it is unknown, since this particular test does not differentiate live cancer cells from dead ones that have not yet been absorbed by my system. I am continuing treatments and hope for a "medication vacation" in the near future.

Therefore, I will not be blogging frequently.

I'm living as close to a normal life as one can get at age 84. Undoubtedly, the treatments have aggravated some of my existing "owies" and "ouchies", but I'm exercising, keeping moving, and doing my part to keep the joints oiled (Keytruda does list both fatigue and a propensity to attack joints as side effects) and keep everything moving. Which most all folks my age are also doing.

I'm blessed every day the sun comes up and I run through the catalog in my head of those I love and who love me in return. I think daily of a dear friend of mine, Rainie McCormick.

 I've not shared this story before partly because it can be a downer until you see clearly the will and determination to keep on living that Rainie drew on every day for eighteen months in the mid '70s. How she fought for each day and determined to "stay alive." But I want to share it now that I'm seeing daylight. Tomorrow may be a different story, that's the way life goes--but one day at a time works for me, and this is what I'm seeing and feeling today.

Rainie was my mentor in politics and Administrative Secretary to the Ruckelshaus campaign in 1968--my boss. But for her guidance and wisdom, I would not have had the career and experiences I have had in government. After Bill Ruckelshaus was defeated for U.S Senator in a race against Birch Bayh, Rainie continued her work as assistant to the Assistant Director of the State Republican Committee, Betty Rendel. I went on, as most of you know, to establish a career in the Indiana State Senate. Rainie (and Betty as well) was a great tactician, savvy politician, and a dear friend all wrapped into one. 

She was diagnosed with lung cancer and suffered 18 months of treatment.  Chemotherapy wiped her out completely, taking medication that made her sicker than she was, she lost her hair, and survived a couple of hospitalizations, one being the removal of a lung. I'd visit her when she was at home, helped her with her duties at the State Republican headquarters when she was well enough to come to work and sat by her in the hospital when those times arose.

She had worked downtown almost the entire week before staying with me for the weekend and we were jubilant. We talked about old times, war stories, and our kids. We laughed until we cried, helped, I'm sure, with the bottles of wine we killed, and chatted with my kids as they roamed in and out on their weekend wanderings. There was always so much joy in her, bubbling over frequently; she also greeted a political or personal challenge with the same vigor. Would never want to be on the opposite side of her.

She drove herself home to Lebanon and died a few days later.

This was the lung cancer "story" I had in my mind when I started this process. I have had such an easy walk through this, thanks to modern medicine, and occasionally, I cry a bit for what Rainie suffered. I also take courage remembering how she handled her struggles. My challenges have been nothing compared to hers, but I am maintaining.

 The last six months have been a dizzying experience, seeing my ability to do things varying sometimes day by day, my energy drained by small efforts. Intimations of my own mortality has also fostered great personal and spiritual growth, and a time to gather in and celebrate the people in my life. 

One day at a time; assuming there is a future; appreciating each day just in case there isn't.