Kind of good news

One's brain contains a teeny tiny landlady. She leases rooms, and although you chat with her on a daily basis, she sometimes goes ahead with contracts that you can't control. The head becomes occupied by strange neighbors.

For the last couple of months a lot of my head space has been given over to the likelihood of donating stem cells to my cancerous brother. Despite all odds, our DNA is identical, and he is in the end stages of multiple myeloma, a cancer of the blood probably caused by exposure to Agent Orange during the Vietnam war. I was identified as his best last chance.

So I've been reading up on what a donor might expect, even visiting a helpful doctor last week, at the urging of a friend. There has been a certain amount of tension. I hate needles, but want to do this thing.

My brother called last night, and now the waiting is over. His primary oncologist does not want to give the green flag for such a high-risk transplant, preferring to try a brand new drug that he believes will keep my brother going for another year or two. This is kind of good news.

Oh man. Isn't cancer a bitch? Such a roller coaster. Up and down, up and down. I'm not giving it the time of day anymore. It doesn't even get the back burner from now on. The landlady has evicted it from my head space.

That is, until we deal with it again later. Then I will gather courage and go forth with battalions of healthy blood cells, kicking cancer's ass in my brother's body.

Until then, just carry on. 

Finally, this is a video of a band my husband John plays with, at a recent gig. John is on the left, playing the dobro:

It tells you to love one another

Your sister and your brother
Live right, 'cause you know
That you reap just what you sow

And so to have no regrets
And to find what you're missin'
Bow your head and listen
To this sermonette.