– A conversation with my husband, shortly after arriving home this afternoon with fresh oxygen tanks, spots on my liver, fluid pushing around my lungs (likely filled with cancer, as are the tumors inside) and at least one broken vertebra that must be healed before we resume any kind of treatment. —
How did we get here? I asked my love, across the bed strewn with children’s toys, books, and an oxygen tank.
We got here because of your amazing strength, commitment, and love for your family that you have shown since you were diagnosed – almost 5 years since diagnosis, 4.5 years since we were afraid it would end, 3 years after most IBC patients make it, all because of you. The medical details don’t matter. Our life has been a nonstop adventure.
Nonstop. I agree. And because of you, always at my side, supporting me, joking with me, taking me to yet another appointment and holding my hand. Kidding me about the speed I drink the contrast shakes, and raising eyebrows with me as the tech’s hands jiggle as he tries to place the line.
What, aren’t you going to blog anymore goodbyes?
I am not blogging goodbyes. I am not saying goodbye to you yet. I won’t.
You will have to soon. Hospice comes in an hour, and since I need Pallative radiation to fix the latest spine fracture, I can’t go to treatment anymore. We need hospice, at least for a time.
No matter what, you deserve to feel better right now, and you deserve a chance to enjoy family and friends, and if that means we use hospice, or go to the moon, or paint you green, then we will do those things. I have dibs on the paintbrush.
Green’s really not my color.
I have not yet encountered a color you could not make yours. Purple?
Purple. I’ll change clothes and listen to her when she comes, but I can’t promise that I’ll be sparkly to the hospice lady.
I’m willing to bet the hospice lady is not expecting to be greeted with confetti and song.
Good point. More tomorrow, my friends. I hope.