So What Happens Now?

 It's a question at first, "So what happens now?", and when it echoes, my brain turns it to lyrics. Probably obscure to most people, unless you have musicals playing in your memory bank like I do. 

Growing up I would watch some great films on VHS, Evita being one of my favorites. Some of the songs are catchy and move you through with enthusiasm. The lyrics from this one are a little more halting, 'Another Suitcase in Another Hall,' carrying some loneliness and sadness, maybe an underlying sigh of resignation. 

Lyrics and Song "Another Suitcase in Another Hall"

For those who don't have the same affinity for cleaning house while jamming to Antonio Banderas and Madonna tangoing through an epic tragedy, feel free to visit the link above for the full song/ lyrics. Alternately, I can probably sum up the next lines my brain sings:  

"You'll get by, you always have before..."

"Where am I going to?"

"Don't ask anymore."

My vintage suitcases, looking for an excuse to escape on an adventure. 

In real life, I have not been going anywhere fascinating. I've been busy visiting Mayo Clinic nearly every day for the last two weeks. On Wednesday, we did get a few answers to the legitimate question everyone is asking. 

For the much awaited cancer team consult I came almost empty handed. The kids had opted not to attend and sent me instead with three pages of questions that, if we're being honest, all boiled down to that one question anyway. So with those tucked in my pocket, I was content to get to the information ahead. 

The oncologist spoke first, discussed the history that brought me to his office, to which I agreed he had studied well. He eyed me a little curiously, 

"You seem rather calm."

I nodded.

I'd packed all the testing into one solid ten day stretch, strapped it in tight, and left rather little room for the extra baggage of drama. Big feelings tend to condense in the processing. Since I have been decompressing them as they find me, I didn't have any loose ones unfolding as we reviewed scans and reports, pathologies and consults. 

        "So what happens now?" The next logical steps are all I needed. Doing the work isn't the problem, only that I am in a knowledge deficit and I don't know where I'm going next. Grateful that the plan was discussed by a team prior to my arrival, I was efficiently apprised of their thoughts. 

I cannot give you quotes from here. The current specifics of the plan are inconsequential, anticlimactic. I was presented with an itemized list for discussion and mutual decision making: things to buy, dates to schedule, people to see. It seems like a pretty typical cancer trip itinerary, albeit rather vague and very open-ended given the starting point. Having never done this type of adventure before, I am calm and methodical in preparing, and recognizing there is so much yet unknown. 

I think that question, "So what happens now?," will be a frequent one on this journey. We are still waiting for the final details from prior authorizations, scheduling, extended pharmacogenomics and genetics and the advanced immunohistochemistry testing of tumor samples. In the interim, I am on a path with the first logical milestones of port placement early next week and some chemo cocktails that we can start with the few specifics we do have now. 

Legitimately, I am going to be at Mayo Clinic many days a week for treatments and follow ups, monitoring and maintenance, and hopefully still to be doing my nursing work. For the moment I don't feel a resignation like the sigh of the lyrics. I do find it helpful knowing I've gotten by before when grief was a surprise companion. For now, I suppose I won't ask anymore to look beyond what is directly ahead; there is only so far to see down any road anyway. Rather, I'm fixing my heading and shouldering my pack with some determination and some grit and a repertoire of good musicals to keep me singing along the way. 

Ready for BWCA 2022, inaugural annual trip