Someone contacted me yesterday to see how I was doing. She said I’d been too quiet on the internet. I really haven’t had much to say and even now I’m not sure. I had a weekend full of family and friends. Full of laughter and love and even a few tears. Now I’m alone, adjusting.
Dear Chris, The first time I saw you I thought you looked like an evil villain. You had a full beard and dark and brooding look. The beard was for a play; I think it was Much Ado About Nothing. Any way, you wouldn’t give me the time of day. You snubbed me the first
We had been sent home to die. At least that’s how it felt when our oncologist suggested hospice care. They don’t want to do chemo because his liver is not functioning. And we had a week of preparing for death. One night we laid in bed and talked about ashes. But then I started thinking
I called a plumber. Last night, after it was brought to my attention that there was no way I could get a rented 100 ft drain snake into my car let alone down into my basement by myself, I called a plumber. I am still amazed at the relief that washed over me as I
Cancer is a fucking asshole. In the last week and a half, I’ve had a crash course in all things suckage that is cancer. It’s a gremlin that wants to come in and tear apart everything. It wrecks any sense of schedule and routine to smithereens. Suddenly easy to grab crap foods are consumed and
Chris is home! The shower is fixed! Chris still has cancer! Wait…that’s not really all that awesome. Forgive me. I’m still having a hard time forming complete sentences. Chris is doing better. He still has internal shunts draining bile from his liver. His bilirubin levels are dropping and the liver doctor seems pleased with his
