Go Figure

So here I am…chugging along. Getting a bit twitchy because we’re coming up on the day for Dave to be scanned. It’s been two month since his last scan…and I know in my heart he’s ok. And yet this damn fear just begins to slowly seep in. I try to ignore it…knowing that the fear is completely unproductive and actually hinders me. I think I have gotten mastery over it and then I watch this show. Doctor Who of all things. And it brings me to my knees. Go figure.

It wasn’t even a particularly amazing episode. I’m not a big supporter of the Doctor falling in love with his assistant and the mushy emotional stuff. Don’t get me wrong. I’m a romantic…but it just doesn’t jive with me for Doctor Who. Call me a purist. Give me great story lines and wonderful alien planets and worthy causes…but don’t give me a sad love affair of unrequited love in one of my favorite sci-fi shows. But I’m digressing. This one little episode, although nothing spectacular, brought me to my knees because the driving thought behind it went to my core. Alone. What an awful thought. The actress actually did what I consider a pretty damn good job of that utter sense of bereavement and loss. And it shook me. And all my walls came down. And I cried. Because it made me think of the utter devastation of loosing the love of your life. And how the mere thought of it sometimes makes me just want to stop. Stop feeling. Stop the aching in my chest. Stop everything in hopes that the fleeting thought passes. And as I watched this character…I didn’t see her. I saw me. And all my fears about loosing David came to the surface. And I lost it. But I guess we all have to do that sometimes. And I guess it’s better to acknowledge the fears and let them come to the surface where they can breath and be released…instead of hiding them away deep down inside and letting them fester. Well, at least this is what I’m telling myself right now.

But on a more upbeat note…Dave had his MRI this morning…and as expected his MRI was clean. He’s doing amazingly well and even his doctor seems to have become a believer and said he expected nothing less. There was absolutely no change… and the doctor even compared it to his January scan. Dave never doubted it for a moment. Actually Dave knew he would be fine. Once again proving this whole mind over matter thing. The mind is an amazing thing…and Dave it teaching me that if you truly believe in something…you have the power to make it happen.

Later this afternoon I had the rare opportunity of joining David at the hospital to pick up his latest cycle of Chemo, which is usually ready 4-5 hours after his MRI. What an interesting trip that was. We drove up and got our “preferential” Cancer parking space up front, which Dave says is one of the perks of this whole Cancer thing. And then he began humming a tune. Which if you’re unfamiliar with Froedtert…each floor of the parking garage has a flower assigned to it and they play a song that corresponds to that flower and only that one song. Cute. We walk into the elevator area of the parking garage and they’re playing that same damn tune …and of course Dave knows it because he always parks on the “rose” level and there are red roses everywhere. Kind of wacky. And as he humming, he turns to me and says, “I don’t take the elevators here. I take the stairs…and sometimes I take them at a run.” I just had to laugh. I don’t know why I worry so much sometimes. He’s fine. Hell. I had a tough time keeping up with him as he trucked up the stairway at mach speed. And I just kept thinking to myself…and he’s the one on CHEMO! Nuts.

So, once we enter the walkway into Froedtert there is an older woman manning a desk, presumably for information and assistance. And as we whisk past her Dave waves and says, “Hi Betty.” I guess he’s beginning to know everyone on a first name basis. And when we walked up to the prescription counter…he was greeted by his first name by the pharmacist. She seemed delighted to see him and was as amazed as everyone else at how well David is doing on Chemo. She didn’t say it directly…but you could tell by her voice and when she asked, “How many cycles is it now Dave?” And then seemed a bit surprised and yet happy when he said 7. And as I watched everyone around us interact with David…I knew how amazing he is and how utterly amazing he is doing. And I know he will continue to do well. Because of who he is and his incredible optimism and willpower to survive.

So…In a period of 24 hours…I went from feeling so sad it felt like my heart would fall apart to standing in the sunshine and feeling optimistic for our future. What a crazy ride it’s been. Hopefully the rest of the week won’t be filled with quite so many hi’s and low’s. But I guess we’ll just have to see where the roads take us…

Oh...and on a side note...can you believe it's only been 5 days since my last post? Don't get too used to it!