In 2010, Paul “Bear” Vasquez posted a video on YouTube with the caption, “It was rainbowing for at least an hour on January 8th 2010. It was incredible. The camera could not capture the vivid intensity and brightness. Look into the mirror, look into your soul!” In his now legendary video, Vasquez rhapsodizes for over three minutes about the “rainbowing” he saw: laughing, crying, groaning, and repeating, “What does this mean?”
Three years after that video went viral, we moved to Scotland. The first time I saw a double rainbow I was driving and had to pull off the road to take photos. It was so vivid! It was so radiant! It was this glorious punctuation connecting heaven and earth! I didn’t record myself moaning at the sight, but I had a measure of understanding for Vasquez’s reaction—you run out of superlatives.
Then I learned that one answer to Vasquez’s question about seeing a double rainbow might be . . . you live in a rainy place. Get a lot of rain, might get a lot of rainbows. Double rainbows, even. (The last time I remember pulling off the road to take photos wasn’t even in Scotland—it was a rainbow in Iceland.) The rainbows are not any less vivid or radiant or glorious now than they were nine years ago, it’s that my eyes have grown dim to see and my heart dull to appreciate them. It can be tempting to focus on the rain (usually to complain!) and ignore the rainbow.
A rainbow is the meteorological phenomenon described as sunlight reflected and refracted and dispersed in water droplets; but it also stirs something in our souls, conjures feelings beyond words, awakens memories of spiritual promise.
This past week has been a rainbow shining through the rain of the past year of pain and diagnosis and treatment. In describing the medical phenomenon of blood counts and proteins and bones and cells, I also want to be aware of and grateful for the incredible glimmers of hope and promise.
NORMAL
Rainbow #1: Last week I had my bloods taken on Tuesday and was scheduled to go to Ninewells for treatment on Thursday. I was pretty certain that my white count would not be high enough and that we’d have to postpone for a week because those neutrophils just do not seem to rebound quickly. The procedure has been that when we get to treatment day and they do not call me, I assume that everything is in order and I go to Dundee. If the bloods are too low, they will call to reschedule. And sure enough, they called from the Chemo Day unit on Thursday morning. But … they wanted to redo the bloods that day rather than wait until the next week, so I could I please make my way up to Ninewells soon? I confess to grumbling. My bloods are still not going to be high enough. They are never high enough this quickly. Now I’m going to have sit there and wait on the lab and that’s going to take who knows how long and we’ll just have to do this all over again next week. Harrumph!
You know where this story is headed. The judgment and expertise of the chemo nurses were validated and my doubts were disproved. My neutrophils had soared during those 48 hours, and I was sent home with the treasured goody bag of another round of targeted therapy treatment. Hurrah!
Rainbow #2: This past Monday I finally had an appointment with an oncologist to review my scans. The scans from January. The scans so old that if they were a person they’d be getting an AARP card or qualifying for a free bus pass. But the big news was not my scans—it was my tumor markers. They have fallen precipitously in the past six weeks. In fact, they have fallen so much that they are now . . .
IN NORMAL RANGE!
The word normal has never before sounded so wonderful.
What exactly does this mean? For now, it indicates that the treatment is working very well and is starving the cancer cells. Having the tumor markers in normal range at this point is an encouraging and promising indicator for the trajectory of this treatment. Long may they remain vividly, radiantly, gloriously normal!
As for the scans, they remain fine, in their slightly maddening way of being less precise with revealing the progression or recession of bony disease than one might like. Given the excellent news of the tumor markers, the oncologist feels comfortable with the scans, which is good news.
Speaking of the oncologist, I finally have one! For at least the next three months, anyway. My oncologist is coming up from Edinburgh through June (current plan) to help cover the advanced stage patients. We had a good clinic appointment and were able to confirm how the communication and responsibility for care is being handled at this point. I am relieved to be able to stay at Ninewells for a while longer, which is another answer to prayer. We’ll do another round of scans in about six to eight weeks and review everything again after that.
Praise for the beauty of words like normal and the measure of healing that they represent.
Pray that this healing will continue in the coming months and be reflected in the scans and tests.
North Carolina friends: If you’d like to celebrate with us in person, we are planning to be at the Forest Hills park in Durham on Friday afternoon, April 15. You can drop by for a few minutes or a couple of hours—it’s casual and relaxed. If you think you’d be able to come, let me know by Tuesday, April 12. If you have any questions, let me know. We’d love to see you!
Well, you must expect a physicist to comment...... Have you noticed that in the second bow, the colours are reversed from the first? And also that no two people see the same bow, because each bow is centred exactly on the observer. See any 001 physics book for explanations. In my 85th year, about a month ago, I saw a perfect double bow for the first time, complete from horizon to horizon, intense, because the sky before me was dark grey and loaded with rain. It lasted for just a few moments, and then a cloud covered the sun behind. me. Unforgettable.
That is very encouraging news! Hope you'll have a good time in the States. xx