**Note: The video is not instructional. It is a mix of pictures and video clips showing our experience of changing our Airstream’s axles.

Carl is always thinking of something when it comes to our Airstream and our traveling lifestyle. For the past year, as we talked about a trip to Alaska sometime in the future, his focus has been on the amount of clearance we get with our Airstream. Given our penchant to boondock when we can, a few more inches of clearance would come in handy.

However, given the age of our Airstream (17 years) and knowing Airstream axles have a life of 15-20 years, he decided to change out the axles instead of just installing a lift kit.

Good news, folks! After the first three rounds of chemotherapy treatments, according to my recent PET scan, most areas that were affected have been resolved (meaning: the lymphoma is gone)! There were spots in my neck, a few of places in my back and my pelvic area, along with a spleen that had “innumerable” lesions that had enlarged. My spleen has started to shrink back to normal size (normal is 12 cm; mine enlarged to 19 cm; and it is now 14.5 cm), and the other areas have cleared. My doctor says it is rare to see someone respond so well midway through. She usually expects some response, but mine indicates complete resolution. I will still have the final three rounds of treatment with another PET scan two weeks after the last one. If things continue as they are right now, I hope to announce a clean bill of health by mid-July as we make our way north to Maine for the International Airstream Rally in Fryeburg, Maine and maybe a national park or two—something I have been looking forward to for several months!

As many of you might know, I am now half-way through chemotherapy treatment. I have had three rounds with three more to go, at the end of which I hope to be given a clean bill of health. I will know more at the beginning of May because I have a mid-cycle PET scan scheduled for April 30, and I’m looking forward to seeing if my lights have dimmed (lit-up areas in a PET scan indicate areas of concern; less light, less concern!).

Side effects are part of any treatment regimen, as we all know. I have a few. Hair loss is the most noticeable. I have lost about ¾ of my hair. It fell out in fistfuls after the first round of chemotherapy but slowed after the second round. My hair is incredibly thin now, but I haven’t reached a point where I want to shave my head. I keep it covered because it keeps my head warm and because, frankly, I don’t like how it looks. But I’m not upset about it. Hair loss indicates that the treatment is doing what it is supposed to do. I might have what little hair I have left trimmed to be shorter so that, once my hair starts growing back in, it might not look so ghastly.

It has been a long week. After receiving a precise diagnosis of Diffuse Large B Cell Lymphoma on March 1, my chemotherapy was able to start on Thursday, March 3. I was relieved because—after two long months—I finally knew what type of lymphoma I had, and I had a schedule for treatment. My relief was coupled with apprehension. I was about to embark on a road to recovery that involves having, in essence, poison pumped into my veins. R-CHOP is the gold standard for this type of lymphoma, and we have heard from others who had been similarly diagnosed and recovered with flying colors. But the week had more in store for me than I had bargained, and I hope to not have a repeat of it.

I have a theory, ill-formed and ill-informed as it may be. Back around 2016, I think our universe slipped into some type of black hole, tilting the earth on its axis in a different way than projected, and we have been living in this altered universe ever since. Between a weird presidential campaign, a raucous four years of politics, topped with a global pandemic, it has felt so completely different than “normal.” Of course, this is on a macro level. Is it abnormal or some type of new normal to which we are all adjusting? Right now, I’ll vote “abnormal.”

On a micro level, we bought our Airstream and brought her home in 2016, setting the course for full-time RV traveling, which we began in 2020 at the height of the beginning of the pandemic. Then, almost two years later, I was diagnosed with lymphoma (still don’t know the precise one!). What!?! I never, in a million years, would have thought I’d be diagnosed with that. I’m still grappling with it, knowing that my life as I’ve known it for the past two years is now completely on hold. The freedom I felt traveling this country with Carl and living in the Airstream has been taken from me by ruthless invaders in my body. The control I had over my everyday life has been snatched away as I wait for biopsy results, wait for treatment to begin, wait for the end of treatment, wait for a cure. Wait, wait, wait – somehow my new mantra.