Dear family and friends,

I'm pleased to inform you that John's condition has much improved. He still needs large amounts of opiates to get through his day, but he gets through with few naps and maybe only 6 days a month where he needs a caretaker. He has regained some of the weight that he lost from November to January. Further, his tumor markers have gone down significantly, from 4700 in January to 4200 at the end of March. Once again, the chemo is working! If his underlying health holds out, there is every reason to believe that this chemo could buy him several months to a year before he needs to try another one.

Everyone in our house has relaxed. The kids feel safer and fight less. When we do fight, we do so in an ordinary way rather than that constant edge-of-panic sort of fighting. I feel safe enough to get annoyed with John about domestic things. I've even realized that I'm mad at him for nearly killing himself! I don't think I allowed myself to feel that while he was so sick, or it was underneath more pressing fear. Of course, intellectually, I still think that John has the right to make whatever decision he needs to make about his life, and that I don't wish the living hell of chemo on my worst enemy much less my best friend. Still, I'm peeved to have been put through this. (Notice that I see it somewhat in the past tense.)

These days, John struggles to find his place as an ill person with a life to live. He feels so sorry that I work so hard, he wishes that he could contribute more, but sometimes his efforts just make more work for me. Sometimes, lately, I have felt like I'm Dr Zhivago endlessly slogging through the snow-covered tundra with no end in sight. At those times, the simple pleasures like socializing, romance, and ordinary hopes for the children seem remote. Telling John about these feelings can lead him to the conclusion that he should die to give us all a break. (Sometimes, things can seem really obvious and still be wrong!) I would rather slog, but I may not always like it. I had a phase recently where I grumbled about Rip Van Winkle waking up and having opinions about how things should be done. My friend suggested John's more akin to Lazarus after Jesus raised him from the dead. Whether asleep or dead, waking to find that life has gone on without one can cause quite an unpleasant shock. I think john has risen to the occasion brilliantly. He really seems to have accepted his limited capacities and found ways to contribute that give him meaning without expecting us to move at his pace all the time. Meanwhile, I'm working on expanding my capacity so that I can do the work without so much ice and snow.

Love to all!

Martha