Cycle 1 - Nearing Its End

There are signs, signs, everywhere signs.

I’m half Mexican so, by nature, am a little superstitious.  I don’t often look for or see omens — the bad kind, but am blessed to see good signs on occasion.  This all started when my Mom died four years ago.  She had a lifelong love of daisies and so they’ve always reminded me of her. After she passed away, I saw them everywhere and not just the ones growing from the ground or arranged in a bouquet.  I’d notice them on someone’s scarf or tote bag as they walked by or on signs or billboards while driving down the road. They were just little reminders that her spirit still walks with me. When dad passed two years ago, he checked in with me occasionally through cosmic references instead — a crisp clear starry night or a bright super moon rising over my house. These sightings happened often in the months after each of them passed but then slowed down as they saw I was doing okay without them.  Recently, though, as I’ve been going through this confusing and emotional time, these signs have come back and not just from them.

When I first started going in for diagnostic tests, I went to Sentara Martha Jefferson Hospital for a CT scan.  I was on the elevator and accidentally pressed the button for the wrong floor. When the doors opened, there, staring at me, was a giant painting of some chickens that my dear friend Krista painted. She and I had not seen much of each other over the past year, nor did she know at that time that anything was going on with me, but seeing her painting felt like a sign. The following week, I went to the  UVA Health Center to get a biopsy and lo and behold, a triplet of Krista’s paintings welcomed me in the lobby. Another day, when I checked in for an Echocardiogram at UVA’s Fontaine Research Park, there was another of Krista’s paintings hanging behind the desk of the woman who checked me in.  Each sighting was like a much-needed hug from an old friend.

 Sentara MJ Hospital (artwork: Krista Townsend)

 UVA Health Center (artwork: Krista Townsend)

 Fontaine Research Park (artwork: Krista Townsend)

And, that’s not all.  Last Wednesday, when I went to get my MRI, there was a wall-sized photo of the cherry blossoms around the Tidal Basin in D.C. just outside the room where I changed into my patient scrubs.  This was surely a sign from my parents. My father proposed to my mother on a picnic blanket under these flowering trees on April 1^st, 1966, and they went back to visit them almost every one of their fifty-five years of marriage. I was born the year following their engagement, in December, but they named me April to commemorate that moment. Those trees are my namesake.

My parents got engaged just across the water next to the Jefferson Memorial

The next day, I had an appointment with my oncologist at the UVA Cancer Center, before being admitted to the hospital for treatments. As I was walking from one building to the next, I passed a giant photo of the Angel Oak Tree, a massive historic Southern live oak on Johns Island, near Charleston, SC.  I love visiting this tree on my trips to Folly Beach and it felt like a little “Stay strong, April” sign from all of my South Carolinian friends before I headed in for my first treatment.

Sending strength from South Carolina

Once I got settled into my room, I noticed that many of my nurses were wearing daisy pins on their name tags as part of a clinical skills, care, and compassion award campaign. Each time they come to my bedside it feels like a little visit from Mom. 

I hope these signs keep coming as I journey on.

This morning, I had a spa day.

Because of my PICC line, I’m not allowed to have a shower while I’m here so I’ve been doing the daily sponge bath to keep me clean + an extra daily antibacterial wipe down on all exposed skin to keep hospital-born infections at bay.  My hair, however, was starting to feel a bit greasy and neglected so the nurse suggested I try the Shampoo Cap.  This is a plastic shower cap lined with a thick, wet, scented cloth material with a no-rinse cleansing solution.  They keep these in the warming oven, so it felt wonderful massaging it into my scalp. When I read the label, I saw that these Shampoo Caps are made in South Korea.  I’m currently watching Season 2 of BEEF on Netflix (a must-see, if you haven’t already) which has a lot of K-beauty product references and I remembered that I’d packed one of those Korean disposable face masks that my friend Michelle had given me when we were at the beach. So, I decided to make a spa day out of it. A little self-care goes a long way.

Beside K-Beauty Treatment

Likely, my last "good hair" day

Meanwhile, while I was primping upstairs, poor Billy Strings, who’d played a couple of concerts in town this weekend was recovering from surgery elsewhere in the hospital. He’d apparently broken his leg at the very end of his last show. According to his Instagram page (where I stole the pictures below) he said,

“Well, can’t say y’all didn’t warn me about screwing around on my skateboard!! Saturday night I walked off stage right before the encore. I was all zazzed up from a really fun show. I grabbed my board and tried to do a trick I’ve done a million times (back 180) and landed awkwardly and broke my leg. I heard it snap over the screaming crowd. Sounded like a damn 2x4. It’s been an interesting couple of days to say the least complete with the most extreme pain and crazy ketamine trips and operations stuff but the staff at UVA here rules. They screwed me all back together. They are absolute angels on earth.”  ~Billy Strings (04/20/2026, UVA Hospital)

Shot from backstage, just before it happened

...I think the ketamine just kicked in 

Like Billy, I’m trying to keep a positive attitude, but sometimes it all starts to feel real.

On Saturday, my blood tests revealed that I had become quite anemic so the doctor ordered a unit of blood.  He told me not to worry — that most patients on the oncology ward are infused at least once each cycle and that they actually use more blood on this ward than in the Emergency Department. I was feeling weak so was hopeful that this might bring back some of my energy.  When they brought the bag in, I took one look at it and teared up. Then I said thank you to the donor. My mother had been a Red Cross "O-negative Super-Donor" and my brother had donated organs when he died 12 years ago, so I don’t take the gift of life lightly. I got emotional about the whole thing and a little weepy ... and I think the prednisone kicked in again.

I actually got a fair amount of sleep last night, but woke up this morning with a splitting headache and Ivan the Terrible beeping in my ear.  The nurse ordered some Tylenol but we waited about twenty minutes for it to arrive. During that time, Ivan just wouldn’t let up and my head started throbbing. I felt nauseous and was hovering over an emesis bag. All the while, I was staring at the dry-erase board in front of me that reads “Waiting on MRI results” and I burst into tears. Was my head throbbing because the lymphoma had spread to my brain or is this just the beginning of the worsening side effects that I'm told I will feel incrementally with each cycle? This time, it wasn’t the prednisone because my morning dose was still sitting in front of me. Then, with a caring touch, my daisy-pinned nurse wiped my tears, wrestled with Ivan, gave me three Tylenol and an Ativan, then told me it would be better soon.  And, it was. 

One day, I hope to be better, too.