Rock Island Line

I feel, it’s hard to say what.

So many emotions, now that aches have passed

Knowing more are coming.

Fear.

A long, noisy train approaching in the dark night.

The kind of fear when I lay in my bedroom alone, a terrified boy.

Night after night, waiting for the piercing headlight

and mechanical yell of the midnight horn,

and the deep rumble-clacking of unstoppable, uncaring steel wheels

pressing hard down against the cold steel rails.

Night after night.

I pull my blanket over my head to hide from the inevitable,

wishing it would never, ever rumble and roar

past my house

ever again.

I wrote this a few nights ago after awakening from a fitful sleep. I was worried about everything in that moment. This childhood memory became clear as if it were from yesterday.

I’d been putting some distance between myself and my most recent infusion, the final infusion for the latest treatment. The symptoms caused by infused medication had been waning in my body. The strong, nagging aches in my arms and legs were finally dissipating, my stomach was settling down, and my fatigue was lessening. But soon I would begin a new treatment with unknown new symptoms. I was starting to get scared.

Tentatively scheduled to start next Sunday, I will begin a new treatment. The one I began in December 2019 was not effective. It kept the disease from spreading, but that’s about it. The amazing before-and-after PET/CT scan images I experienced during my 2018 treatment did not materialize this time around. This was disappointing and frustrating, of course. It showed that I could not expect every treatment to be a slam-dunk success. As I thought more about it, I began to worry.

My doctor assures me that there are still many avenues for treatment, and I know he’s right. I read about new treatments all the time. And if these newer, gentler, more sophisticated treatments don’t work, there’s always the option to go back to older, stronger chemotherapy that should get the job done. The down side is that I’d have to deal with the harsher side effects.

I’ve recently been rereading information about lymphoma and notes from my previous doctor visits. I am reassured that this disease is treatable and survivable. In fact, people usually survive it for years. Why am I getting so bound up about it? Well, the unknown is a scary thing.

Tomorrow I get an MRI on my head. I hope they find my brain remains in my skull and doing fine. I had a bone marrow biopsy last week. These tests are part of the opening protocol for the new study.

I’m confident in my good prognosis. It’s just a matter of time before we find the right treatment. Perhaps the third time’s a charm?

—

Thank you to all my family and friends accompanying me on this journey. Thanks for the prayers, hugs, handshakes, food, coffee, visits, best wishes, phone calls, messages, favors and love. You are the people that hold me up day to day, showing me God’s love for me through your hearts and through your hands. Blessing to you all.

“For I long to see you, so that I may impart to you some spiritual gift to strengthen you, that is, we may be mutually comforted by one another’s faith, both yours and mine.” – Romans 1:11