A Rough Couple of Days

Even in November, Jordan prefers to lounge California style–in a bikini.

She had a rough couple of days this weekend. Saturday, as we started our weekly pancake ritual, she suddenly ran for the bathroom. By the time I caught up with her she was retching over the toilet, emptying what little she had in her stomach. True to form, Jordan was unstoppable. As I held her hair, she kept trying to talk to me, garbling her words with burps and vomit. I had to keep telling her to wait. She could tell me later. When she had finished, she finally got the words out.
– I hate chemo. This is disgusting.

I cleaned her up and gave her some anti-nausea medicine. She bounced back within an hour, and devoured her pancakes and eggs. The rest of the day was pretty pleasant. She complains that her back is bothering her, and she seems to be having more headaches. Her legs aren’t getting as strong as we would like. She’s wearing her braces occasionally, though we often have to remind her of their import. We are sometimes resigned that surgery will be the only way to repair her atrophied muscles, but we counsel each other to have hope and encourage Jordan to keep working and be diligent in her therapies. All these subtle symptoms and setbacks elevate our general paranoia and cause us to worry more than we should. Jordan’s next MRI is a few weeks away. Jeanette and I worry that we might not like the results. But Jordan doesn’t worry at all. She trudges on at her usual pace–confident, optimistic, driven.
Last night she was up for awhile, fighting her stomach and suffering the indignities of treatment. All she wanted was to go back to sleep. It’s now well after nine this morning and she’s still in bed, a rarity for my earliest riser. Outside, the wind blows and the air is crisp. The house is quiet, still and peaceful. I’ve been writing, but I took a break awhile ago to sneak back and spy on Jordan. She was curled up in her bed, the covers half over her face, which was a little more pale than usual, but no less radiant. As I kissed her cheek, I made a little wish for her–that the days ahead would be quiet and peaceful for her, too.