No Pain, No Gain*

For some reason these words popped into my head last week.  It might have something to do with the fact that it was while I was getting a mammogram and I was seriously trying to consider what I was gaining, other than pain, from this experience.  Mind you, an experience that I had actually called and made an appointment for.  Two things actually came to mind.  First, I was witnessing a modern day miracle as I watched the technician try to take nothing and make it into something, only then to try to flatten it back into nothing.  And second, peace of mind.  Peace of mind - now there is a legitimate gain.  I thought I would apply my “peace of mind gain” to Kevin’s situation, and it just didn’t fit. I’ve stretched my brain all week trying to think of what Kevin is gaining from the pain he is in.  All I came up with was a little bit of sympathy and a stronger prescription.  The only conclusion I have is there must be an asterisk next to the phrase.  You know, the little asterisk that your brain overlooks because the words “EVERYTHING ON SALE” are screaming at you, and only with a second look and a magnifying glass do you finally see that little asterisk with the words “some restrictions apply” next to it.  I’m pretty confident this phrase must have an asterick:  no pain, no gain*  (*exception: there are times when there is pain, and no gain) That makes me feel better, but it doesn’t do much for Kevin.  He just got his 2nd round of chemotherapy this afternoon. Have I mentioned that we are using standard drugs right now?  Kevin’s not too happy about it. . .I guess, who would be?  This is Dr. Chawla’s recommendation, as the yondalis clinical trial was obviously not working for Kevin, tumors are growing, and we need to get the situation under control before trying another clinical trial (like the CoQ10).  Kevin’s white blood cells count was too low last week to get a round of chemo.  They say that’s what happens when you are getting blasted with radiation daily for over 3 weeks in two different spots.  So, here’s what the Hegewalds are praying for:  that Kevin’s sight will return to normal; that the radiation will be effective to alleviate the pain in his back and shoulder; that the chemo will slow down tumor growth; and what the heck, we still pray for peace of mind.  

I love you, babe

Bucket list #9:

Attend live U2 concert  - check!

“I love you, babe”

“I love U2”

Thank you Randy, Carri, and Christy for making it happen, and experiencing it with us.  It was a beautiful day.

Every eight years Kevin’s birthday falls right on Father’s Day.  This is one of those years.  I secretly cheer as I am able to roll the father’s day birthday celebration all into one.  It’s hard for me not to reflect back 8 years ago when we were having such a celebration.  Kevin had just been diagnosed with cancer the first time.  My parents were here visiting because Josh, our oldest, was baptized the day before, and Kevin was starting his first round of chemo the next day (June 20). We gave Kevin a big leather lazy boy type chair - “a cancer chair” called by some; a “healing chair” called by my mom.  My sister and brothers gave Kevin one of his favorite prints - “Prayer at Valley Forge” - a portrait of George Washington kneeling in prayer beside his horse.  That print has hung majestically above our mantle for the past 8 years.  It signified all that we needed to face our challenge - courage, humility, and a knowledge that it’s only possible with the Lord’s help.  Today we took down the George Washington portrait and replaced it with our most recent family photo.  Ironically, we find ourselves in a similar situation as 8 years ago.  But this year, Kevin’s parents and sister are here to celebrate the day with us, and our youngest, Sam, will be getting baptized later this year.  The “healing chair” is still here - all broken in with the leather all soft and worn - and the new picture above the mantle still portrays what we need to face our challenge - each other.  We still have courage, and we still pray for humility, and fortunately, we still have the knowledge that it’s only possible with the Lord’s help.  But what we’re really, really grateful for today, is that we have each other.  

Kevin, I love you, happy birthday, happy father’s day. . .eight years from now, I will let you hang whatever you want above the mantle!!  Birthday cake today . . .chemo tomorrow!  xo

Today - by the numbers

3 number of hours Kevin received chemotherapy (started standard drugs treatment today; 
        will go 3 Mondays on, then 2 Mondays off, etc.)

10 number of radiation treatments left on his groin

13 number of radiation treatments left on his spine (location of tumor responsible for
        shoulder pain)

4 number of fingers Kevin sees if I hold up 2 fingers (waiting patiently for his vision to be 
        restored)

20 number of mg. of decadron Kevin took 

2 number of diet cokes Abby drank (total red flag)

3 number of kids sick with a cold

4 number of empty kleenex boxes

1 number of flat tires fixed

3 number of men who saw me in my pajamas getting flat tire fixed

5 number of feet of moldy drywall removed from my kitchen

2 number of fans in my kitchen

0 number of mistakes Sophie and Ben made in their piano recital

7.5 number of days left of school

~ (infinite) number of ways we’ve felt blessed

Spot Welding

Last week I attended an eighth grade awards ceremony for Sophie.  I watched as 14 year old boys and girls, when hearing their name announced, walked up to the stage, were presented a piece of paper, and then stood awkwardly smiling as all of their peers and parents stared at them.  I realized a little sadly that this would be the last time I would see Sophie take the stage in Middle School . .off she goes to high school next year where the opportunities to take the stage to hold a piece of paper are almost nonexistent. I came home and told Kevin that our society has done an amazing job inspiring teenagers to achieve great things just for a 6 cent certificate.   Now imagine my surprise with the following incident.  Last Friday, Kevin completed his 5th and final round of cyberknife to the skull.  As we were leaving the office and saying our hearty “good byes” with no “see you tomorrow”’s attached, Kevin was presented a certificate.  It congratulated him for having “completed the prescribed course of Radiation Therapy with outstanding courage and determination.  It is recognized by our staff as an Honorable Achievement, and we would like to congratulate you on a job well done.” This 6 cent piece of paper with photocopied signatures and his name written as “Hegewald, Kevin” actually choked him up.  It made me realize, it’s not the paper. (duh) It’s that someone has acknowledged that you’ve accomplished something great.  Isn’t that one of the nicest things in the world - being recognized.  When I asked Kevin why he didn’t get a certificate the last time he completed cyberknife, he responded, “I don’t know . .maybe you have to do it more than once.”  I think that’s it.  Anyone can get perfect grades or survive cancer or survive cyberknife once. . but to do it twice, now that deserves a certificate.  

Unfortunately, our certificate celebration lasted about 15 minutes.  On the car ride home Kevin spoke to his oncologist’s assistant who reminded him that to participate in the new drug study he needed a 28 day washout period from any radiation before starting.  So Kevin’s next call was to the radiation oncologist.  He could no longer ignore the growing lymph node in his groin. (When I told Kevin that I felt a little uncomfortable using the word “groin” he and the kids gave me several other anatomical suggestions.  I’ve decided to stick with “groin.”)  Kevin has had some inflammation in his left leg as a result of the growing tumor, and radiation was being discussed until the double vision skull buster showed up. (Think of Kevin’s body like an emergency room.  It’s only considered an emergency until something else more urgent comes through the door.)  And guess what?  That poor groin tumor got upstaged again!!  Friday afternoon an intense and horrific pain struck Kevin in his left shoulder blade.  It left him frantic as he needed to leave for work in less than an hour.  Pain killers.  no relief.  Lidoderm patch.  no relief.  A desperate prayer.  relief.  The Lord completely blessed Kevin to be able to work his shift and crawl into bed 9 hours later.  The pain has continued since then, but it’s a testimony to us both that the Lord will provide when we need it most.   So it looks like, in Kevin’s words, he will be doing some more “spot welding.”  A little here, a little there.  It starts tomorrow with standard radiation to the groin tumor.  How many cycles, and where to radiate for the shoulder pain are yet to be determined, but if he faces it all with courage, there just might be a certificate for him.