Day 3380 - I'll Be [Staying] Home For Christmas

Exactly 9 years ago, I was in my house in Dumont having a panic attack because my temperature was 100.6०F. It had a whole different meaning back then. A fever while I was neutropenic meant I had to be admitted to the hospital and put on IV antibiotics until my counts recovered, which could take weeks. So when I saw that "100.6" in mid-December, I knew that meant I'd be inpatient for Christmas.

Fast forward to 2020, and oh, what a year it has been! After a shitty year full of sickness, death, and despair, we're coming up on the holidays, and instead of being able to look forward to gathering with friends and family, we're grappling with the reality of how unsafe it could be and how it probably shouldn't happen.

Last week, after seeing the COVID cases spike to record levels not just in Rochester, but all over the country, Derek and I were discussing whether we would go back to Dumont for Christmas, and we agreed there wasn't really any way to justify it; there's no way we could do it safely, and it'd end up being more stressful than fun. We're scientists. We know this is the right decision.

My emotional brain, on the other hand, is not having it. I spent a significant amount of time last week crying and being generally miserable about not going home. The fact is, I have NEVER not spent Christmas Eve with my family. Even in 2011, when I was hospitalized, my doctors gave me a "day pass" to have Christmas Eve dinner at home and open gifts with my family. They always try to give people a pass around the holidays, or who knows, maybe they just heard me weepily singing "I'll Be Home For Christmas" in my hospital bed, desperately willing my bone marrow to grow some cells (true story), but regardless, they made it happen. I was recovering from my 6th round of induction chemo, my white blood cells were at an immeasurable level, and it was unsafe for me to eat salads or have fresh flowers in my room, but the nurses hung my antibiotic in the afternoon, and I had six hours at home before I needed to be back for my next dose.

And now we're here. Derek and I have been very lucky during the pandemic; we're both working, we've been healthy, and we don't kids or elderly family members to worry about. Sure, we've had some disappointments, like cancelled trips, limited social engagements, the same as everyone else in the world, but nothing unmanageable. Still, that all feels like nothing compared to missing Christmas. Even at my absolute sickest and most vulnerable, during a year where I was constantly experiencing loss, I found a way to celebrate with my family. And this year, I can't.

Luckily, my sadness has been short-lived, and I've decided just to accept and embrace it. We're not going, but we'll make the most of it. I've started buying gifts for EVERYONE and annoying the hell outta my mom to take inventory of them when they arrive at the house (I make my presence known, even from 300 miles away). We're brainstorming what kinds of fish we want to make for our Christmas Eve dinner, and then we'll FaceTime in to show off our feast. I was even thinking I'd learn a bunch of holiday songs and do a mini-concert on Facebook live or something. I'll get in the spirit!

I want to end by saying I am incredibly grateful that I did not have cancer this year, and to all the people who do, I truly feel for you. I can't even imagine how terrifying it is. Cancer is already devastating, and the pandemic only amplifies your concerns about your health.

And to everyone who's missing out on time (in-person) with their friends and families, I'm right there with you. But try not to dwell on it. There are still plenty of ways to celebrate safely without forgoing everything completely, you just gotta be creative. And if all goes well, we'll be back together in 2021. :)

Happy holidays, everyone!