Cancer treatment is a roller coaster ride. You have to live in bits: bits of hours, bits of days…little tiny bits. You don’t dare look ahead too far; life is micro not macro.
Doug got a call from his nurse the other day:
“We want you to come in early for a blood test.”
“Is it anything I need to be concerned about?” he asked, near panic.
“It’s your liver enzymes.” the nurse flatly explained.
Anyone that knows cancer knows that it loves to spread to the liver. When it spreads to the liver it often becomes deadly. The familiar, cold-sweat panic sets in, you take a deep breath and the internal dialogue kicks in like a silent auction of life versus death. The liver: we don’t want to visit the liver.
After three days of nail-biting, praying and waking in the middle of the night Doug got the word. I heard the now ominous creak of the front door. I was sitting in the same place I had been when he originally announced the unfathomable cancer diagnosis—the toilet.
I shouted, “Don’t tell me while I’m sitting here!”
My hand shook as it reached for the toilet paper, heart racing, sweat beading. I tidied myself and emerged from the bathroom.
“My liver’s so fine, I can drink a glass of wine.”, he smiled, we hugged, I cried and I felt deep inside the first bit of hope I’ve felt through this entire hideous misadventure.
Today is Valentine’s. We have no wine, but we have some time yet to celebrate. Who wants to try to get into a restaurant on Valentine’s day anyway??? I will post our first toast.
Thanks to all of you! We extend our love on this special “day of the liver”, more often associated with the heart, otherwise known as Valentine’s day.