Breath In... Breath Out...

A dear friend of mine commissioned a little warrior woman goddess for me by an artist friend of hers. It’s a beautiful piece incorporating wirework, beads and other little wonderful trinkets. And it has the words “warrior” woven into it. It’s a cherished gift that gently helps to remind me daily that I am a warrior and that I have the strength to get through this. The card that accompanied the gift read, “Breath In…Breath out…repeat. “ I’ve hung the card as well. Something so simple…and yet so important. When it hits the fan, as it seems to all too often to around here, I try to remember this simple mantra.

On the front line, things seemed to have settled down a bit around here. We’re by no means in peace time…just a respite from the war going on within David’s body. We’re getting into new routines and learning how to navigate the latest turn this journey has taken us. David is recovering at home. There are fewer bouts of confusion and he’s having more moments of connectedness with the family. He’s begun his new chemo treatments and those seem to be going smoothly as well. It’s a bit different this time, since he’s receiving these intravenously, and previously his chemo was always by pill. It’s that whole wacky blood brain barrier thing. It’s extremely difficult to cross and thus, brain cancer patients tend to have pill forms of chemo. But he’s received 2 treatments and his body is tolerating it well. It’s an eye opening experience to be amongst all of the other patients. Cancer truly doesn’t discriminate. All races. Young and old. Men, Women and Children. And as I watched…It made me think. I’ve always thought brain cancer was especially insidious because of how it not only attacks the body but the mind. Effecting memory, insight and behavior. But in truth, all forms of Cancer are insidious. I just happen to have the inside track on the brain tumor kind. But each and every person going through this battle and fighting with the malignant little beast has their own equally nasty shit to deal with. And I commend every single one of you. All of the warriors….both patients and caregivers. Because it can get quite brutal out there.

But we’re doing it. Getting through the days. Just getting through. We spend entirely too much time at the hospital. Enduring treatments, doctor appointments, therapies and an unending battery of tests. I’ve been mistaken on more than one occasion as an employee in numerous departments and have even begun to get the employee discount (unasked for) in the cafeteria. You know I’ve been here too much! And when I’m walking down the halls and in the period of 5 minutes I have had a couple of nurses, a resident, a physical therapist and a doctor wave at me, I’ve realized just how much a part of the institution I’ve become. It’s surreal but this is my life. This truly has become my second home. Although on some levels I absolutely hate this place, for all it symbolizes and reminds me of. Strangely enough, despite all of the pain and fear that I associate with this damn place, I’ve also become extremely comfortable here. I have spent way too much time here over the last 2 years and the hospital and its staff have become a very big part of my life. For better or worse.

I’ve even found myself gravitating to the 5th floor just because I’ve spent so much time there. Both in the Neuro-ICU and the Neuro –Recovery wing. I’ll see nurses that have cared for David in the past and some even stop to chat and find out how we’re doing. The staff there is phenomenal and I am eternally grateful to have them in our lives. Many have gone well beyond the call of duty getting us resources we needed or just lending a shoulder for support. Many have taken care of David on more than one occasion and have gotten quite attached to him themselves.

You can see how that attachment has now begun to affect them. I’ve noticed a change in many of the staff in recent months since David’s last surgery and subsequent stroke. For many, David was the poster child for optimism and he made us believe he could beat it. Even the nurses, who have seen so many before and after him come and go…they began to believe. You could see it in their eyes and how they spoke to us. But now. But now he looks more the “part.” He looks like a GBM patient and it is disconcerting to all of them. Because they have let their walls down and he’s become a part of their lives too. And now they’re beginning to see that David…although absolutely amazing…is not omnipotent. And you can see the profound sadness in their eyes. Some have begun to distance themselves already, as if stealing themselves. Others who were once sassy and playful with David are now quiet and gentle. Many that David used to chat with and tease, he no longer acknowledges or even speaks to. Sometimes it is almost too painful for me to see. Because they have the look that I see only too often on our friends and family faces and is a mirror of what I am feeling myself.

Don’t get me wrong, their treatment is still impeccable. It’s just you can see how this latest turn has effected them...effected all of us. David is fighting a miraculous fight with that Glioblastoma Multiforme and although he was beating it down for an almost record 2 years. Things have shifted a bit. The battle is more equal now. And you can see how not only the Cancer…but the treatments and surgeries are starting to wear at David. Tearing him apart not only on the outside but from within.