January 16, 2002: The Cusp?

Greetings and Happy New Year to you all. In the past few days I've had a few notes from several of you, wondering what's going on. Sorry if I've neglected you--there's really been little to report, but I'll do my best to catch you up on life in the recovery lane. (Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking about that lane: blinkers on, going slower than normal, not sure if I'll get to make the turn.)

As you know, early in December I was diagnosed with Shingles, so most of the month I was, as Sheri likes to say, "gimpy"--with lots of pain and discomfort from my right hip down to my foot. By the middle of the month most of the pain had gone, except for in my foot, where from the tip of my toe to the inside/front of my heel I developed a numbness--like it's asleep, 'cept it still hurts. The good news was that I was able to get off my backside and start moving a bit--enough to be able to moderately entertain my sister Susan and her husband Jim for a few days before Christmas. They were home for Christmas and came via the Northeast. As well as being the first time, as far as we could figure, that we've spent together alone and uninterupted as adults, it also gave us a chance to have Susan do the "HLA blood testing" done to find out if she's a match should, down the road, a full bone marrow transplant be necessary. (Don't know the results yet.) While I was far more limited in movement than I would have liked, we were still able (with the help of Mr. Percoset and Ms. Morphine Patch) to get around a bit--enjoying a local Cuban restaurant--as well as staying in to let Susan share one of the better, if unexpected, lessons she's learned while in the 'far east': Pakistani Cooking. Yep, Sue and Jim have been adopted by a community of Pakistani ex-pats in HK, and they have developed both a love for and an understanding of that culture. They even have friends who've studied with the Taliban and Al Queda, which made for some interesting dinner conversation.

Not long after Sue and Jim left for Canada, we were able to join them at my parents. The best thing about that trip to Canada was its uneventfulness: we just missed the closing of the NY turnpike by about 4 hours after the big 7 foot dumping in Buffalo. Our time with Mom and Dad Ozard was excellent, as was the chance to catch up with our nephews (Sue's boys) who are now 21 and 19, and both in university, as well as my two remaining Aunts/Uncles (Phyl--Dad's sister-in-law; and Miriam and Chuck--Mom's sister). We also were able to have dinner with my 'best man' and his wife, Bob and Julia Holmes, when they drove up on the Sunday night before Christmas. Both Sheri and I were pretty tired--but were still able to come away feeling somewhat refreshed by our jaunt north. The only real disappointment was that there was really no time to visit with other friends. Perhaps another trip, soon?

After returning home to the suburbs, it hit me hard. After nine months of one fight or another, one symptom or illness or side-effect or something, I was home, no major treatments were planned, no major problems were in place, and, besides my continuing numbness of foot, I was starting to feel ok. And I collapsed. Those of you who know me well know that, regardless of how hard I try, I never sleep more than 7 or 8 hours a night--and it's usually more like 5 or 6. I'm an early bird, even after late nights. Well, since New Years, I've had to make myself get out of bed. I've felt like I could sleep for days. Or at least all day, on any given day. This has been frustrating for me, as I had made a lengthy to-do list of things, well, to do in the new year, chief among them being the crafting of a series of articles on "new beginnings." Sigh. Still, several people--including a few wise ones--have taken me aside and told me to relax with it. After nine months of all of this nonsense, it was bound to hit me eventually. So, there it is... after 9 months of treatment and 5 months of not "working", I need a vacation. I'm tired and I'm not ashamed of it. Go figure.

Which is really why I haven't written much. Or replied to a bunch of you. Sorry.

As far as prognosis goes, I should have some kind of "firm" word in the next week or so. Friday is my "100 Day" appointment with Dr. Lugor, the oncologist who supervised my stem cell transplant, and all week I've been having a bunch of tests taken, or samples collected, so that she can make an accurate assesment of my current state. My other main oncologist, Dr. Hoessly (who is Dr. Lugor's husband) is very optimistic, and has been quite encouraging. As I said, the appointment is Friday, and I'll give you a full update as soon as they give me one.

And yes, they too think that an agenda-free rest is not a bad thing, and are encouraging me to take some time to just rest, sleep and visit with friends. So, who knows. I may kiss my wife and get in the car and go somewhere, some time, soon. Or at least go to a few movies. As you might guess, '01 was not a big movie-going year for the Ozards, what with the hospitals and supressed immune system and the like. I'm itching to see Ali and the new picture from that Tolkien fellow.

One film we saw just after Christmas was "A Beautiful Mind"--the picture about the Princeton math nobel laureate with paranoid schizophrenia. It was powerful and overwhelming in the way it portrayed this horrible ailment--and forcefully brought to mind several young men I've known in the past 30 years who suffered with it. Sheri will testify to the impact it had on me--and once again made me think about those who suffer with less "sympathetic" illnesses and traumas. Schizophrenics don't usually get there own email lists and prayer groups, and certainly rarely are celebrated for their "bravery" or courage when they come home from shock therapy. They don't get asked to give their testimonies, or write books or do speaking tours. And so, while recognizing the toll that this year has taken, I am again forced to remember those who suffer alone, and again ask that when and if you remember to pray for me, you pray for the lonely as well.

Thanks. For listening, for praying, for just existing. Knowing that there's a group of people out "there" who care has been the difference some days.

love, Dwight

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