Friday, August 9, 2013

Rain On

There is thunder rumbling outside and the sky is turning dark.  There is a storm brewing out there, and that is just fine with me. 
A Friday night thunderstorm is the perfect way to end this week.
Our dryer broke.  All the little lights come on, but when I push the start button, the dumb thing goes "beep beep."  Every. Single. Time.  "Beep beep."  "Beep beep."  "BEEP BEEP."  My techno-nerd hubby used the Google and got some ideas.  He ordered a new part, which was delivered today.  So far, no luck.  "Beep beep."
In the's no secret that I detest laundry even when all the machines are working.  You can only imagine the joy it has been to drape each individual sock, towel, and little-boy undie over the shower, tub, trampoline, swing, fireplace, and finally, my friend Krystal's drying rack.  If you see us out and about and we look a little wrinkled and/or crusty, you'll know why.
The location for the clinical trial has been narrowed down for me because nothing else is available.  Looks like I will be traveling to Oklahoma, where the wind comes sweeping down the plain!  The first step is to meet with the trial doctor to discuss my history and make a final decision about my eligibility to participate.  That meeting will take place on Monday.
Although I fully realize that this clinical trial has the potential to be the hope that I have asked God for, I am having a hard time being cheerful about it.  For one thing, I will endure a rigorous screening process made up of multiple tests that for some reason can not be all done in one trip to Oklahoma City.  I do not understand this.  For another thing, it is possible that I will go through the screening and randomization processes, only to be informed that I can not take the trial drug.  "But here", they will say.  "We would like to offer you some lovely Taxol as a consolation prize.  100% guaranteed to make your hair fall out! Tried and failed to cure cancer!  Congratulations!"  That would be neat-o.
By the way, in case that scenario should occur (and there is a 1 in 3 chance that it will), this is what I will do:  WALK AWAY.
I am not doing chemotherapy again.  5 drugs in 3 years.  I guess you can safely say that I am not chemo-compatible.
Here is another reason that I hate this week.  This conversation happened:
Little Middle:  What time will Mr. Dad be home?
Me:  Around 5:30.
Little Middle:  Can I call him and see what time he will get here?
Me:  No!  I just told you when he'll be here!
Little Middle(making pouting face and crossing arms across chest)
Me:  You sure are anxious for Daddy to get home.  (Teasing)  Why does he get to be the fun parent?
Little Middle(Serious face) Because you're always sick.
Ugh.  He said it the honest, this-is-what-I-really-think way that kids say stuff.  He wasn't trying to be hurtful. Just real. 
Then today, we had another big blow--one I'm not quite ready to write about, but you can believe me when I tell you that I deserved that glass of wine I drank at almost-5:00.
AND my darling cowboys ran off to their friends' house with my laptop and all of the leftover Chick-Fil-A ketchup and Buffalo sauce packets in their backpack.  You know, for the monster movie they were making.  Special effects...very, very special.
I hope it rains.  I hope the heavens open wide and it pours down.  I hope there is thunder and lightning to match my mood.  I love a rainy night....but not a stormy life.


Anonymous said...

I love you Allyson. I am thinking and praying everyday. My heart is with you no matter what anyone says. I would love to call and talk. If you feel like it, please let me know. Griz

Valerie said...

I love you, Allyson. We've never met, but I've followed your blog for a long time - since I was going through breast cancer treatments/surgeries a few years ago. I live in a Dallas suburb and feel like we are neighbors. I love your writing. It's so much more than writing, actually. You simply carry on a conversation with your friends as I listen in. You speak with such truth. And complete honesty. You make me smile, laugh, and sometimes cry - especially when you talk about your cancer journey and describe something I really relate to - like Taxol. I had an allergic reaction, and it burned my hands and feet from the inside. Yep. Nasty stuff. But I want you to know I am feeling such hope for you in this clinical trial. I am praying for you tomorrow, and again the next day, etc. Fight the good fight, run the race. You are so right -- God is is good, He loves us, He is in control. Allow Him to be enough.

Sandra Wilkins said...


I don't know you, but am friends with Sharon Shimshack--she taught both my kids. I just want you to know I've prayed for you many times. I'm praying for a miracle--I do believe our God still performs them today amidst horrifying circumstances. I lost my own father to cancer and it also threatened my mother's life. It is a monster, a pestilence. May you feel our loving father's comfort during this time.

Charles Ashley said...

Praying for you. And asking my friends to anonymously pray for you.