I grew up in a blue-collar family where vacations were momentous events. They didn’t happen every year, but when they did, they tended to be memorable.

There was the Yellowstone Park vacation, the Expo ’67 vacation, the Lincoln Trail vaca­tion. Our family vacations required a lot of planning and saving. While we were away, my mother would always send heaps of postcards to family and friends showing our travels in vivid color.

As kids, my brothers and I would save our allowances so we could buy sou­ve­nirs from exotic locales. I still have a little plastic doll from Mt. Rushmore (or the Corn Palace, now that I think about it), dressed in what my ten-year-old self took to be authentic Native American garb.

Yes, vacations were a Big Deal in the Nelson family.

I’m on vacation right now.

Before you sigh with envy, hear me out. I’m not writing this post from a sunny beach down south. I am not at the top of the Eiffel Tower admiring the view. I’m not out in Portland enjoying an ice cream cone from Salt and Straw with my granddaughter.

It’s not that kind of vacation.

I’m on a Velcade ^[1] (bortezomib) vacation. My vacation started at my mid-April oncology appointment. While I am doing great as a cancer patient, my non-cancer health was increasingly quirky as winter turned into spring. After I recited a list of issues to my oncologist, including spending the first two weeks of the month sick at home, he scrunched up his face, looked at my lab numbers again, and then said, “Let’s have you take a vacation from the Velcade and give your body a chance to recuperate.”

Hence my vacation.

It has been an interesting several weeks. The first thing I noticed was my schedule did not have to revolve around Tuesday chemo and oncology appointments. I didn’t realize the impact of always having Tuesdays scheduled until suddenly they were not. Wow! Freeing up Tuesdays made a bigger impression on me than not having my sleep schedule disrupted by dexamethasone ^[1] (Decadron), although that benefit occurred to me shortly thereafter.

The next thing I noticed was that the peripheral neuropathy in my hands started to diminish. Within a few weeks, it had resolved almost entirely. As I type these words, I am blissfully unaware of any sensations in my fingers other than the routine sensation of being on the keyboard.

And the most recent change I have noticed? My energy levels, which had sunk to new low levels, have started to show signs of reviving. The day I mopped both the kitchen and the bathroom floors was worth celebrating.

Trust me, I have never before celebrated mopping a floor. Isn’t it amazing what one finds fascinating when on vacation?

Today I will see my oncologist, and we will assess where I am on the myeloma spectrum. Assuming my lab results are stable, I plan on extending my vacation. And if not, well, I know the drill. Obviously, I’m hoping to extend my vacation into the summer.

This vacation is decidedly different from those long ago travels of my childhood. There are no postcards to send. There are no roadmaps to pore over and gauge how far to drive before stopping for the night. There are no gimcracks and gewgaws to cart back home.

But if I could send a postcard, it would probably echo my mother’s sentiments of almost a half-century ago. “Having a great time! The views are spectacular! See you soon!”