So, I initially entitled this post “day 9.5”. Then I counted back, and reality was, umm, 3. Not even 3.5…just 3. Period.
I had to erase and correct, which means I had to also take ownership of some shit that’s been playing pinball inside my head.. like getting ahead of myself by 2/3rds or whatever it calculates out to (I suck at math and I make no excuses, I simply just hate it)…essentially thinking that 9 days had somehow happened in 3 days. 9 is my favorite number, so maybe it all just ties into that, but it is probably not worth discussing at this juncture.
I have no idea whether that is me trying to hold on to time, or rejecting time altogether…I likely won’t have closure on that for months. Most importantly, my rock is here with me in all this uncertainty of which is what; likely feeling the same distortion of time; stoically acting as though this is nothing he needs to lose his shit about…it’s totally fucking normal to learn your wife pretty much mostly has maybe possibly cancer.
I honestly don’t know who it sucks most for. I just know I feel like I am inflicting pain upon those I love because they are scared I might not be there for them to love any longer…but I will…we all just need some concrete information to work with. And it doesn’t matter who cries at which point. It’s gonna likely be ugly and messy for a while. And probably awkward. But that’s life, and these are the things that grow us.
It’s been so beautiful and loving…this weirdness of life…every fucking minute of it. Nobody cares any longer about dirty underpants or inefficiently cleaned up dog poo…we are just fucking happy to be here. and we’re not afraid to say it, or text it, or just hug the fuck out of it.
I stare at my husband now because he has finally passed out from the sheer exhaustion of worry. And I feel so grateful that I can bring him a cool washcloth or a glass of water because I don’t know when or whether that option will no longer be mine, and things I have no jurisdiction over will dictate the who, what, when, where, and why of every day existence.
Today’s silver lining is that we bought a new couch and recliner that will be delivered on Monday. Whether I am cancer + or -, we will have a livingroom that welcomes congregation, and if nobody has cancer then each placement of preference is totally up for grabs. At least that’s what I say now. And I have the right to change my mind at any time.
It can be hard to say the weird shit. We all feel the pain. Why does it have to be so weird anyways? It is what it is, right? You get what you get and you don’t throw a fit.
I’m struggling in ways I didn’t even know I was capable of feeling struggle about. I’m trying to allow myself just a tad more space and breadth of acceptance that who I am is plenty fucking fine…and I’m equally completely amiss as to grasping any sort of grace that might help me navigate whatever this journey is going to prove itself to be.
I’m fucking scared. And I don’t really know how to be that version of myself to anyone in my life. I am and have been the warrior; there has never been any other option that I could see through my night vision goggles…fight until you’re exhausted, then pull your fucking bootstraps up and keep fighting…you don’t have the luxury of complacency.
But because of my husband and the essence of who he is, I’m trying to feel confidence in trust. I’m learning how to trust in trust. I am breathing because I trust. I understand that I can be scared and trust at the same time, and that we can be scared and trust together.
My words today come from the headspace I am currently stuck in, but they don’t define anything. They just are. They let me talk the only way I know how. They give me some level of humanity to myself. Or maybe some fucking sanity to just get it out of my head for a few hours whilst I call upon some welcome sleep.
We’re all fallible; we’re all beautiful. We all struggle with saying what our heart wants to say because our head gets in the way. What I have learned thus far on my who-the-fuck-knows-if-I-have-cancer-or-not journey is that we’re all scared. It doesn’t matter which bad-news-recipient you are – it all fucking sucks, and each and every one of us has our own way to work through it.
I glance at this man next to me, again, and I know I am wrapped in the biggest and best love that exists.