Coming out of sleep, I open one eye. I am assaulted by the green display of the bedside alarm clock. Three AM. A thought is trying to come to the surface...why is 3AM significant? What? Oh, yes. I should get up and take my Tarceva tablet. Next thought: I just woke up, so I've actually been asleep! Wow!
I ease myself out of the bed, night-vision straining to detect any of three dogs that might be underfoot. There is some light coming in through the blinds. I see that Boo, our 8 year old Schipperke, has left his bed and is laying on his side right in my path. I pad along carefully, so as not to disturb him. Duke, 9 year old GSP is still curled up in his bed, vocalizing ever so softly in his dreams of finding birds. Jack, 4 year old Schipperke, sound asleep in the ball bed. My husband David did not stir when I got out of bed.
I reach the vanity and tap on the lighted mirror. The Tarceva bottle is right there on the counter next to the water glass. My hand closes around the medication bottle and for a moment, I am keenly aware of what it is in my hand. A month's worth of Tarceva costs about $5,000 (yes, five thousand dollars). I am blessed to have excellent insurance: my co-pay: $10. I say a quiet prayer of thanks for that. The cost of the tablet in my hand is a day's pay for a lot of people. This expensive drug is working for me, though. It cost them millions and millions to develop it. I'm so glad they did. Another quiet prayer for the researchers who worked for years until they had a viable drug.
The cold water tastes good. My meds make my mouth dry. I notice how dry the skin on my legs and abdomen feels. My scalp isn't tingling so badly tonight. That keeps me awake quite often. Tarceva side effects. I'm grateful and mindful of living in a time, place and situation that a treatment like this is available to me. Another silent prayer of thanks. I set the glass down on the vanity as quietly as possible and carefully make my way back to bed. The drug is once again in my body, targeting the lung cancer cells wherever they may be. The drug is giving me more time...more "healthy" time, I hope.
I carefully slip back into bed. Boo and Jack didn't move. Duke has settled down, his nocturnal hunt completed. Sleep does not come: instead I consider what it means to my life to have access to this kind of care for this kind of illness. I need to honor this. I look at the clock again; it's nearly 4AM. I trust that the Lord can use cracked pots and broken bodies in His work. I pray my gratitude, thankfulness and at some point fall asleep.....because...
I feel a cold nose pushing on my arm. The mouth belonging to that nose bites down on the sheet and blanket, and with a hard tug, pulls the bed clothes off of me. David is not there. He got up very early. I'm still trying to fend off Jack, when Boo joins in on the bed, voicing his impatience with me with his rough, peculiar bark. Duke shakes himself, his long ears slapping together and on his head with loud smacks.
I struggle out of bed and walk over the retrieve my robe off the hook by the vanity. My eyes come to rest on the Tarceva bottle. I smile slightly, and with another small prayer of gratitude, allow my dogs to herd me out of the bedroom and into my day....
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