Hope

I am awake, having slept a solid 5 hours and then tossing and turning for an hour with an aching leg, a sore ankle, a determination not to take any more pharmaceutical solutions for pain or anxiety and a restless heart. The decision for survival on Doug's terms was irrevocably taken away from Doug yesterday when we learned that his disease has taken a turn for the terminal and the nasty. His kidneys are blinking in and out of proper function, his blood calcium is fluctuating between high and psychosis/cardiac arrest level, his gut is shut down to the point of being able to drink water but anything else makes him vomit blood and fecal material. His left leg is literally twice as big as his right one, painful and clotted from groin to ankle and to add insult to injury he has no saliva so his lips stick to his teeth. He either starts full strength chemo in the next couple of days or his time here on earth will rapidly come to an end. Of course the irony of that is that, based on his past reactions to this particular brand of treatment, the first chemo treatment could very well kill him. It will also have the unhappy effects of increased numbness in his hands, feet and other appendages which bedevils him already, increased dysfunction of his brain, mouth sores, paralyzed gut, deep and unrelenting joint pain and of course the loss of his precious new curly hair. Two weeks ago when he started to experience changes in his well being, he wanted for us to go to Hawaii together as soon as possible, but apparently cancer waits for no one and no romantic plans. The good Lord decided to sideline me a bit by having me slip on a errant pool of water on the hospital floor the night Doug was admitted to the hospital causing me to break my left ankle, so apparently I am supposed to ask for and accept help at this stage of the game.
I have been thinking about hope lately. My hope, Doug's hope, the hope of all those folks around us. I realize that I find myself not wanting to be found a fool for having hope in the face of this catastrophe. I am very grounded in the reality of the situation and am as ready as anyone can be to face whatever is in store for us, but find that I can't listen to anyone about how to do this. There are folks that will tell me to banish any thoughts of hopelessness or death or suffering from my mind. That in fact if I don't do this that I am inviting the grim reaper to our door. There are others that would take a scythe to the frail and delicate blossoms of our hope in the name of being realistic and practical. Then there is me here alone at 5 o'clock in the morning, thinking about miracles and the many losses that I have lived through in this glorious, troubled, human and stumbling life of mine.
The mere fact of Doug and I having bumped into each other in this life, and both having had the courage to take a chance on the stirrings of our hearts while ignoring the claxon calls of our minds. The strong loving marriage that we have made in spite of our mutual fears, resentments and ongoing foibles. We got together just in time for me to be by his side when his Dad had his final days and died, his mom spent her last days on earth with us and passed from this world to the next in his arms here at our home, he witnessed the miracle of birth when our grandchild slipped from the confines of his mothers body into our lives and hearts in this same home two years later. We have learned to fight fair, talk even when we didn't want to and to dream together. I have endured the pain of the uncertainty with the lives of my children with him to lean against. We have both lost good friends to death. We have explored the mysteries together We have learned to forgive over and over again, each other and a myriad of others. We have both schemed ways to circumvent each others obstinance, to no avail I might add. We have complained about each other and thanked God out loud for having given us each other. We have been human and spirits together. And right now all this looks like it may very well end, badly, painfully and sorrowfully, but I, he, we still have hope. I imagine that we will until one of us takes their last breath. I ask that no one who loves us try to take that away from either of us in the name of practicality or brutal honesty. I ask God to let me cry and be strong simultaneously. I ask that Doug's suffering be made easier to bear for both of us. There is an old saying; Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional, I have to say that when you are in the thick of it, that is a very, very hard thing to remember. So now that the dawn is here, I will see if the newspaper and a cup of tea will lull me back to sleep or launch me into this day. I am OK with either. I just wanted to add a footnote, for those of you who might be wondering, there is no amount of Vicodin or pasta, hamburgers or ice cream that has made this any easier, but the 20 pounds that I have gained since my brush with death 3 month ago is definitely not making it easier. I am perfectly aware that in light of my husbands impending death or survival with collateral damage that my gaining 20 pounds is a very a small burden to bear but please understand that the addictive nature of soothing my emotional and physical pain is disturbing to me and the weight gain as a consequence is almost unbearable. I think that is all for now.