Ya Win Some, Ya Lose Some

Updating from Mom and Dad's house, which feels slightly strange because they're not here. They're partying somewhere in upstate New York (no dancing on the tables, Dad); I'm in Jersey eating their food, drinking their wine and giving the dogs and Anna Lee a chance to run amok in the back yard. Don't worry Mom - I'm wiping everybody's feet before they come into the house.

For those of you who are wondering:

YES, the alarm did go off.

NO, I didn't set it off. Honest. There was a thunder storm. And a power failure. It really wasn't me.

But I was mightily confused when I called Mom from the driveway to confirm the code that I can never remember because it's not my ATM code, social security number or high school locker combination and she said, "You already set the alarm off."

"From the driveway?"

She insisted I'd done it. I swore up and down I didn't. Dad was the one who thought to ask about the thunder storm and the power failure. Otherwise I fear I'd still be standing in the driveway, protesting my innocence to a mother who has heard me protest my innocence too many times before.

So they're on the road again, but this time Dad isn't feeling too well. He took a bit of a dive just after my last update, so Dr. O'Reilly took him off part of his chemo cocktail for a bit. We knew that at some point, the toxins would build up until we would need to start editing his treatment protocol, and I guess we've reached that point. It's not unexpected, but it's sort of a bummer nonetheless. I hope he bounces back qiuckly, because we need to keep his chemo regime consistent in order to stay ahead of the cancer.

Of course, if you ask him, he says he feels okay. That's in part because he's just not a complainer, and also because compared to when he feels totally terrible, he really *does* feel okay.

But I want him to feel better than okay.

I want him to feel good.

That's not too much to ask, right?

I didn't think so.

The doctor also started him on tincture of opium to control his symptoms and help him feel better.

"Aren't you supposed to smoke that?" Mom asked, probably imagining that Dad was going to break out a hookah and turn into the Caterpillar from "Alice in Wonderland".

The answer is no - you don't. It's not opium, and it's stripped of most of its narcotic attributes, so it's not a fun drug. But it's side effects are drowsiness and dizziness, so Dad took it and promptly handed the car keys to Mom.

Smart man. He may have lived through a time when drinking and driving was more of a sport than a crime, but these days, he knows when to say when.

So that's the update for now.

More as and when, and until then, keep on keepin' on.

Peace,

Connie

Welcoming Summer With Open Arms... And a Little Bit of Disco

And so, here we are, nine months later. Does it feel like nine months to you? I think it feels like nine minutes and ninety years.

How is Dad?

He's doing well. Really well. Almost embarrassingly well.

"I thought your dad was sick," people hiss in my ear at parties. I watch Dad boogie past, doing his super special Lindy-Mashed Potato-Saturday Night Fever- Hand Jive and shrug. "That's what they keep telling him. He just won't play the part."

He went to Vermont and helped set the buoys in Lake Morey ("I drove the boat," he proudly declared.).

He went back to help rip the roof off the porch ("and nobody got hurt!" he proudly declared).

He rocked it out so hard at a recent wedding, my sources tell me he giggled himself to sleep and then had the Grand High Master of all Hangovers the next day.

Well Done, Dad.

He had a bad bout of pain in April, which gave us all a bit of a fright. A series of emergency scans revealed...a kidney stone. We all hooted and hollered and cheered for the kidney stone while Dad piped up from the corner, "excuse me, but it still HURTS! ".

We were sort of heartless and told him to tough it out, and he did, which was quite decent of him.

Of course, it's not all posies and parties - this is life in the world of cancer and chemo, after all.

He has days when he is wiped out.

He has days when he feels really crappy.

He has days when he gets really frustrated that basic activities - things we all take for granted, like being able to go out to dinner - sometimes seem out of reach.

But his moods are a bit like a superball - they drop and then bounce back up and he's off and running once again.

His next round of scans is scheduled for July. We expect (nay - demand!) another set of positive results, and that he will spend a good chunk of the summer teaching the grand kids to swim in the lake and the pool (if it ever stops raining and gets warm).

We are, as always, astonished and humbled by the continued outpouring of support we have received. The prayers and good wishes of our friends and family help give Dad the strength to get up every day and say, "No way, cancer. You won't get me today. I will fight. I will survive." (I feel a disco ball and a Gloria Gaynor song coming on. Let's go, people. You know the words. Let your inner 1970's Disco Diva run free, strap on your roller skates with your Adidas knee socks and sing along!)

"Oh no not I!
I will survive!
Oh, as long as I know how to love, I know I'll stay alive!
I've got all my life to live,
I've got all my love to give,
and I'll survive... I will survive!
Hey hey!"

< and we're off, discoing into the summer sunset >

Peace,

Connie

Holy Moly!

All I can say is "WOW". Dad finally got around to asking for the results of his blood marker tests. We were all so jazzed with the results of the scans, we forgot to follow up on the markers. So on Tuesday, sort of conversationally, Dad asked the nurse to check on the results. The number nearly knocked him out of his chair.

In October, he was at 470. As a refresher, a normal, cancer-free result is 0 - 40. So 470 was not a good number.

In December, he was down around 190. We were very happy to see such a drop.

At the start of March? 95. I'll say it again. NINETY FIVE.

No wonder the doctor was so happy. That's an *incredible* result!

As you can imagine, we are all thrilled. Dad was so happy, he finished his chemo and then he, Mom and a friend of theirs went out for a burger. Who finishes chemo and then grabs a burger?

My Dad.

He swears he's doing so well because of all the support, prayers and love he's received from all of his friends. We're all in this together, and we're winning!

THANK YOU!!!!

Peace,

Connie

Survey Says...

It's a WIN!!! Another HUGE win, actually. The results of the scans were "excellent," in the words of Dr. O'Reilly (who is rarely so effusive). We figured Dad was doing well, but the results were even better than we expected. All of the tumors shrunk - the ones on the liver and the big one in the intestine too. Hooray!

I wasn't able to be at the hospital this time, but Dad called with the results as soon as he and Mom and Christian finished meeting with Dr. O'Reilly. Then Mom called to tell me the results while Dad called Kurt to share the results with him. Then Mom called Kurt for the same reason. Then Kurt called me to ask if it was normal for our parents to be standing side by side making the same phone calls to the same people at the same time. A fair question, but given the nature of the news, I don't care if they call me fifty times!

I haven't been able to get the results of the blood tests, but I imagine the markers dropped off significantly as well. I'll post an update as soon as I'm able to track down my parents, who I am pretty sure have been out celebrating since they got the news yesterday.

Thanks to everyone who reads along and comments or just sends a note of good wishes to Mom and Dad. All the wonderful wishes and prayers and good thoughts are working!

Peace!

Connie

Scan Day!

So I must admit to being remiss in updating the blog. Today Dad is having his second round of scans, having completed his second bout of chemo last week. I think we're all a little nervous, but without reason. He's feeling well, he's looking great and his outlook is superb. It helps, of course, that we have a new member of Team Oberle helping to cheer him on:

Meet Katherine Anne Margaret Geoghan:





Katherine is very excited about joining the fight. I know she looks a little complacent now but trust me - she really gets her spit-fire on at around two in the morning. I think she'll be a powerful addition to the team.

The scan went uneventfully and Mom and Dad went from the hospital to visit Katherine and me. From there, they headed for home and now the tough part begins... waiting. Didn't Tom Petty write a song about this? Yeah - the waiting really is the hardest part. But wait we will, until Friday, when we expect to hear great things yet again.

Please keep us in your thoughts and send positive vibes our way!

Peace,

Connie

"On the road, again. Just can't wait to get on the road again."

It's the theme song to Dad's life. He and Mom have always been drivers, as likely to dash to Vermont for the day (5 hours driving) as they are to dash to Lincroft (5 minutes driving). When I was a kid, I didn't think there was anything extraordinary about loading into the car every weekend to log several hundred miles for two days of skiing. Six weeks in a van, driving around the country, was just another Oberle (or Griswold) vacation. Now that I am a parent, I recognize the trips for what they were - Herculean efforts made by my parents, with Dad at the wheel and Mom forever riding shotgun but never getting full control of the radio, to score family time. That, or acts of sheer lunacy. I prefer the former classification to the later.

Dad's and Mom's ramblin' ways hit a snag when Dad got sick. It was tough to work up the stamina for 6 hours of driving, let alone any sort of recreational activity, when he hadn't eaten a proper meal in 3 months.

But no more.

The foot is back on the gas pedal and even though he sometimes relinquishes the steering wheel (but never control) to Mom, I feel pretty confident saying he's back to his old ways.

He went to Vermont to take some turns with an old friend from the Ski Club (apparently it was quite cold, but he pressed on). He and one of my uncles took a bus trip to ski in New York (apparently it was pea soup fog and pissing down rain, but he pressed on). He made plans to take my daughter skiing in Connecticut, but when the forecast called for sub-zero temperatures before the wind-chill, he wised up and turned south.

Way south.

Tuesday I met him and Mom and Christian at Sloan for his IV chemo. I like having the chance to spend some time with him and Mom when they're in the city for his treatments, but I had special motivation to see them this week. They were planning to finish his IV, go home, load the car (an energy-efficient Hybrid, I am proud to report) and leave before sunrise Wednesday for a road-trip down the East Coast to Charleston and from Charleston to Miami.

Yes - Dad and Mom are driving to Florida. I could be mistaken, but I think I was in grammar school the last time they drove to Florida. I also think there was a reason we didn't do it again - it's a really long drive.

So I met them at the hospital to spend some time and to say "bon voyage." Dad looks fantastic. His weigh-in showed that he and I are still going pound-for-pound. No, I still won't tell you how many pounds we're currently packing, but it's awesome for him and worthy of a few post-baby visits to the personal trainer for me.

He still isn't having terrible side effects from the chemo, which is great. Curiously, he gets associative nausea when he enters the IV treatment area, but I am trying to figure out a way to make that stop. The continuing nature of the treatments - meaning that they are going to be doing chemo for two weeks out of every three for the foreseeable future - is always a little tough to embrace, but we all know that the chemo is treating him far better than the cancer did, so we grin and bear it, re-fill the prescriptions and plug in to the drip once again.

Dad took his IV and, when it was done, grabbed his coat and hat and with a "C'mon, I'll give you a lift home," was out the door in a shot. Mom and I were scrambling in his wake. They drove me across town and deposited me at my building. Then, with a kiss on the cheek and a "see you later!" they were gone, bouncing off through the snow, on their way to Jersey and from there to warmer climes.

I was left standing on the side of 73rd street, scratching my head and wondering precisely what super-strong stuff was forged into their souls when they were created. I just don't know any other people like them. I wish I could say I weather adversity as well and as gracefully as they do, but I know I don't.

I'm just a big old baby.

Who was more than a little bit jealous on Wednesday morning, when I awoke to find the temperature in New York barely out of the single digits and Mom and Dad were already nosing their way into Baltimore.

I checked in with them a few times during the day - greetings from Virginia - we're in North Carolina - hi, we're in Charleston. I know Dad gave Mom at least one opportunity to use the bathroom during the trip (once we get going, Oberles do not stop) because they had to re-fuel the hybrid once en route, but beyond that, they seem to have put the pedal down and gone.

Just like they would have done 20 years ago - except our old Chevy van would have needed many more fuel stops.

Happy New Year from The Blog!

Sorry for the false post earlier - that's what I get for trying to type and watch the Golden Globes at the same time. You didn't really think I had nothing to say but "happy new year," did you? Not a chance!

And now, back to our regularly scheduled post...

The holidays have always been a whirlwind, and in some ways this year was as every other. We put our feet into the blocks on Halloween and sprang into the late autumn powered by fun-sized Snickers bars pinched from our kids' trick-or-treat bags. Down came the pumpkins and up went the pilgrims and before we knew it, we had polished off the pecan pie and raced off to the mall in search of the most perfect present ever... preferably at 50% off.

The holiday season felt short and rushed and harried but this year it also felt precious and warm and unique. Maybe that's one of the backwards gifts that a chronic and frightening condition like cancer can give to a family. Unlike in years past, we didn't try to see too many people or do too much. The three Oberle kids came home with their spouses and families and we stayed put. Kurt and Keri (and Oscar and their impressively intelligent/vindictive dog Ashton) drove from Charleston to New Jersey and back again twice in the span of four weeks. They took a week off for each visit, so there was ample time to spend with Mom and Dad and Nanny. Christian and Jane made it to Colts Neck for both Thanksgiving and Christmas and they stayed over each time. Christian works so much, the holidays are often practically a drive-by, so the extra time with him was particularly special. As for me - well - I've always felt like Dan and I spend the better part of the Christmas holiday in the car, racing from one place to another. This year we landed at Mom and Dad's house on Christmas Eve and stayed until December 26. The little kids had a blast and it was fun to swap gifts, but the best part of the holiday (in my never-humble opinion) came when the dishes had been cleared and my family gathered in the kitchen, picking over leftovers and memories with equal relish. The stories flowed with abandon and I can't remember the last time I laughed so hard with people I love so much. By the time I went to bed, my face and my sides were sore. I know it was difficult for our spouses to spend the entire holiday away from their extended families, but in doing so they gave us the best Christmas I can remember and for that, I am and will remain eternally grateful.

So how was Dad through the holiday? Amazing. I was afraid that going out with the family for Christmas Eve would wipe him out too much to enjoy Christmas Day. I needn't have worried. He looked great. He felt great. He ate and laughed and had a blast. He had a ton of visitors over the holidays - Mom made more than one wise crack about a star hanging over the house and frankincense and myrrh being left on the front steps - and I know he really enjoyed all the company.

The new year has settled in and Dad is in his second set of this new round of chemo. He's still tolerating the treatments well (and he still has his hair) and is even gaining weight. I met him and Mom for an appointment at Sloan-Kettering last week, and when we got into the examining room, he weighed himself. He slid the weights to the right and to the right and to the right again and then shook his head and said, "that can't be right. The scale must be broken."

I think the same thing every time I get on the scale these days.

"How much does it say?" I asked him.

He gave the number and then said, "that would be a gain of more than 20 pounds."

"Well it just so happens," I said, "that I weighed that exact amount at the obstetrician yesterday, so step aside, Old Man, and give Fatty a shot at the scale."

Dad raised one slightly thin eyebrow and stepped aside. I heaved my impressively pregnant self onto the scale and mentally dared the weights to challenge me. The bar tipped up... then down... then balanced. The scale was accurate. Dad has gained more than 20 pounds!

Yes - he is six inches taller than me and we weigh the same amount.

N0 - I will not tell you what that amount is.

But I am sooooooo going on a diet once this baby is born.

Dr. O'Reilly was very pleased with how well Dad looks and feels. He did get a hernia in December (which he and a buddy of his put back (however one does that) on their own), so she set him up with an appointment to see a surgeon later this month. That appointment will probably be informative rather than pre-operative, since the hernia hasn't re-emerged or popped out again or done whatever it is that hernias do when they're not behaving. She supported his plans to go skiing later this month; she agreed that horseback riding should probably stay off the agenda for the immediate future. She renewed his prescriptions, patted him on the head (figuratively) and sent us on our way with instructions to keep on doing what we're doing.

It all, it was a satisfying visit, a pleasant end to a difficult year and an auspicious start to the new one. We know the economy is in the tank, but we've been taught over the past few months that the economy is a very small part of a very large picture. We're looking forward to an amazing 2009 and we hope everyone reading this blog has a new year that is wonderful and blessed and filled with love.

Peace!

Connie