I don't have good news. Pam's blood won't clot. When the body suffers a trauma (say, like, leukemia) it sometimes decides it's not going to clot anymore. It's life threatening. She can't open an envelope. She can't brush her teeth. She can't do anything that might cause her to bleed. Because she might not stop.
To treat the condition (DCIS) they have to treat the leukemia. So arsenic it is. Pam's already had 3/4 of a lifetime dose of it, but they're going to try another 1/4.
A bone marrow transplant is on the agenda.
A transfer to the University of Michigan hospitals for more advanced specialists and options is on the horizon.
She's on extreme bed rest, unable to even get out of bed without alarms sounding and nurses scolding. But she's really too weak anyway.
When I talk with her, though, she's still laughing. And teasing her 78 year old mother about having another child to help cure her leukemia like the tabloids talk about. She understands that the doctor has said she'll have to take the entire year off teaching, but she was holding out hope since they wrote "a semester" on some paperwork.
My heart just aches. I struggle to find God's meaning and purpose in all of this.
I'm feeling guilty for feeling selfish. I miss her at school. I miss her on the phone. I miss her funny emails and jokes about pixie sticks and apple pies. I just plain miss her. And I want to go see her, but I know she's had too many visitors. I know she needs to rest and wants to rest but won't turn people away. I know I have a sore throat and have no business going anywhere near the hospital right now. But I want to see my dear friend, Pam. I want to see the hope in her eyes and the optimism in her heart and I want it to wear off on me.
I spent an afternoon with Pam this summer at Race for a Cure. We sat at the auction and she bid on more things than she usually does and bought a $50 afghan that someone had made. In addition to the hundreds of dollars she already spends on the event, she didn't hesitate to spend more at the auction. Today she said, "At least I made a big donation this summer."
Unfortunately, it would seem leukemia doesn't take bribes.