Scares & Flares

Erica and I live day-to-day these days, so even as of noon on the Fourth of July no plans had been made for firework viewing. We were debating between the big downtown Pittsburgh experience versus the main street America feel of Zelienople community park. The city experience presented new, unknown challenges like finding close parking and navigating a wheelchair through the crowds. So, with temps in the 90s, we opted for the small town—assuming more shade, less concrete and smaller crowds.

We arranged to meet up with our friends, the Gallaghers, and got to the park at the perfect time to grab a front row parking spot. We climbed out of the AC-cooled car into the sunny heat. We started to unload lawn chairs to claim our viewing spot when Erica asked a simple question, “Are my eyes crossed?”

If you have read my ‘Mother’s Day’ post, you will understand why this question triggered a panic wave that washed over me. Even though her eyes were not crossed and she did not have double vision, Erica had just taken her first treatment of Avastin and Enhertu forty-eight hours earlier. Our oncologist was very clear that there is little or no documentation of these two medications being administered simultaneously. “Let me know immediately if you have any strange symptoms,” was his clear direction before Erica moved to the treatment chair last Wednesday. Unfortunately, vision concerns were not strange symptoms for Erica. ‘Double vision’ and ’emergency room’ have become synonymous in our vocabulary.

With calming breaths and a racing heart, I helped Erica back in to the car and started the air conditioning again. Reclining the chair and resting a bit, she began to feel more comfortable. A quick prayer and an oversized ice cream sandwich from the nearby food truck took away any remaining fears.

Later that evening when the air started to cool, we laughed as we waited for nearly an hour in line for funnel cake which we never got (why we never got it is a story for another blog). We laughed because when everyone else was standing for that long, hot hour, Erica got to sit in the wheelchair. Who knew being in a wheelchair could bring such happiness? The fireworks were beautiful. The time with friends special. And hearing Erica scream with every flash that preceded a loud boom made my heart race again—this time with joy.

Erica is now independently descending and climbing the steep flight of a dozen steps to our back deck, our private oasis that overlooks a densely wooded valley. She admits that it is scary, but boldly clutches the railing and takes one step at a time. The deck is where we truly love to unwind and host friends and family, so it has been a joy to be back in the back again. When I asked Erica what she wanted to write in this post, she said, “Every day, I wake up believing this is the day I’ll get out of bed and just walk.” Seeing her determination and progress this week, I believe her.