Facing the Unknown

Our 40-foot motorhome awaits its first launch in 15 months.

It has been 15 months since I came face to face with my first days of battle against the cancer that appeared in my body without any real warning. Oh, I had aches and pains when we volunteered at the National Wildlife Preserves in Long Island two years ago. But I thought, at the time, that I was just beginning to feel my age.

But now we are ready to re-launch our wandering after my bemused oncologist, Manjesh Lingamurthy, gave us the go-ahead to put our motorhome in gear and wander.

We begin this Saturday by taking our first baby step. We’ll leave our home base in Wauchula, Florida, and drive the motorhome over the Tampa Bay Bridge. It’s only a journey of about 2.5 hours. But it follows the pattern we have followed all our lives, even when we lived aboard our many sailboats.

We have always liked the practice of cutting our umbilical cord and setting out ... but not going too far. We used to leave on our boat, clear the marina, head downstream and then drop our anchor after two hours. That allowed us the act of separation. It also permitted us to get over the jitters of leaving the land, relaxing for the night and then striking out for a more distant shore.

Aboard the motorhome, it’s no different. We’ll drive to Seminole, Florida, and park on a quiet street. We’ll visit with two dear friends for the night. And then, on Sunday morning, we’ll launch our rig, car attached at the back, and head north toward Tallahassee, in Florida’s panhandle.

Our plans are to head on to Louisiana where we plan to have some work done on the rig by a superb   motorhome mechanic that we have used in the past. Then we wander south into Texas where we plan to meet up with our oldest granddaughter, Cassandra. She has asked for Jo’s help in adjusting her mother’s wedding dress so she can wear it at her own wedding in August.

Westward-ho to Fredericksburg, TX, where we plan to spend 10 days at a gathering of Alfa Motorhome owners. I liken it to salmon coming all the way upriver to meet their own kind...but we won’t be spawning, of course.

This will be where we check on my blood so my oncologist can keep connected with me by analyzing all the platelet counts. We’ll be using Quest Diagnostics as we wander America. We plan to stop for testing each month. In addition, we have to plan our itinerary so we can arrange to have my Revlimid anti-cancer drug delivered by Fedex along the route . This is a really nasty drug, that I’m required to take every other day to keep my multiple myeloma at bay. Even though my doc says I’m in remission, I have to take the drug for the rest of my life. It certainly beats the alternative!

Revlimid, you might be interested in knowing, formerly was called Thalidomide. If you’re old enough, you might remember, in the 1960s, this was given to pregnant women who were having difficulties with viability of the fetus. Its downside: babies were born with flippers instead of arms, among other horror stories.

When I get my Revlimid supply each month, I have to listen to a nurse who tells me I MUST NOT  allow a pregnant woman to come in contact with the drug. I also am warned that I need a full-body condom to have sexual relations with a woman of child-bearing age! That’s only a slight exaggeration !

All these check-ins add complications to our journey. But it surely beats the alternative!

We invite you to join our journey as we continue on our endless journey of discovery.