Brave Faces Through Hard Days

Starting treatment was nerve-wracking. We walked into it with brave faces, holding on to hope and prayers that the side effects would be kind. It felt like stepping into the unknown, but we kept reminding ourselves: one step at a time.

Right before we checked in for Kara’s first infusion at Genesis Cancer Care, we stopped at the nurse’s desk and saw them all wearing Team Kara shirts. It stopped us in our tracks. Such a beautiful, unexpected gesture. Tears welled up instantly and the warmth wrapping around us like a blanket we didn’t even realize we needed. Kara’s face lit up in a smile that stretched ear to ear. Moments like that matter so much more than words can explain. She was beaming, thrilled to add more teammates to her squad.

The rest of the day went better than we expected. Kara loved meeting more nurses (of course she did). She shared her bright message: today is a new day with a new opportunity to make the world a brighter place. One nurse said she was tearing up, and that Kara's happy spirit was going to be the highlight of their day.

Midway through treatment, Kara suddenly announced, I’m starving! One emergency burger call later, and thanks to our amazing friend Marcy, she was happily devouring her favorite classic burger basket from Armored Gardens.

By the time treatment was done, we were relieved and ready to head home. That evening, we curled up on the couch, we cheered on the Iowa Women’s basketball team, and had a quiet, cozy night. It felt peaceful. For a second, almost normal.

Friday was a different story. Kara was in a mood. And if you know Kara, you know how rare that is. She didn’t want to head back to Davenport for her MRI. No amount of persuasion, bribing, or begging seemed to work. I rallied the troops to send messages, I promised visitors later, and finally found a small window to get her dressed. It took all three of us. Mom and I caught a couple of strong kicks in the processI couldn’t help but laugh to myself. Who says she has weak muscle tone?

Thankfully, she handled the MRI like a champ with the help of Autumn, a breast cancer survivor and total badass that we met back in December. The results didn’t take long. Nurse Mary called while we were still driving home. The scan was clear. Praise Jesus. We needed that news. For a moment, it felt like we could breathe again.

The day wasn’t done throwing challenges our way. As promised, Kara had visitors. Morgan and Kyle brought a sweet picture book. Megan came by with a one-of-a-kind, personalized Pepsi shirt. It’s impossible not to be moved by the generosity of the people around us. Kara has received digital picture frames, flowers, balloons, gift cards, and treats, all little reminders that we’re not walking this road alone. We’re so, so grateful.

After Megan left, Kara curled up for a nap. We figured the chemo fatigue had arrived. But at 3 p.m., without warning, she woke up and vomited everywhere. Damnit. We thought we had at least 48 hours on the anti-nausea meds before that storm hit.

Though the nausea seemed chemo-related, we couldn’t ignore the fact that it had been too long since her last bowel movement. Out of an abundance of caution, we headed to the ER in DeWitt. A CT scan confirmed no obstruction praise the Lord again and we were released with an at-home plan. Kara was beyond exhausted. We decided to tackle the rest in the morning.

The issue eventually resolved itself, but it dragged a wave of relentless vomiting with it. Every hour, like clockwork, Kara was sick. Mom and Dad were up with her all night, exhausted but unwilling to leave her side. By early Saturday afternoon, I walked in and saw her drained, pale, and defeated. It was time for another trip to the ER.

The next few hours blurred together: bloodwork, fluids, and a double dose of Zofran and Reglan. It gave her brief relief, but the dry heaving wouldn’t let up. As the second bag of fluids started, her stomach still churned. More Zofran. More Reglan. Still no peace. They added Benadryl. She was completely over it.

When the second bag finished, Kara cried. She just wanted to go home. We had to make the tough call with the doctor to admit her. We prayed that round-the-clock care would finally give her the relief she so desperately needed.

She was agitated, restless. We added in Lorazepam, more Zofran, an NSAID, another blood draw. It felt overwhelming to watch her body absorb all those medications. Necessary, but heartbreaking.

When we transferred from the ER to a hospital bed we are greeted by a new wave of staff. As I begin to share tidbits of Kara’s likes and dislikes, her Nurse Ryan stops to tell me that he already heard that she loves KWQC and CJ Parker’s rendition of the National Anthem. My high school classmate, Sam is a nurse here and had filled him in. I can’t begin to describe the comfort it brings me to have people take interest and genuinely care about her. I’m also amazed at the reach of my Kara content - if you’re reading this, hi Sam!

I don’t know what the rest of tonight will bring. Or tomorrow. Or what options we’ll have beyond the chemo we just tried. My mind spins, is this the beginning of countless hospital stays? Will we ever find the right combination to keep her comfortable?

I keep trying to remind myself of the words that grounded me when this all started: Be where your feet are. Right now, where my feet are feels unbearable.

But I’m holding on to hope that tomorrow is a brighter day.