I was going to start this blog entry by saying that we are adjusting to this new reality. But I’m not sure that’s quite right. Certainly the tears are slowing up although they are still catching me unawares from time to time. But the horror of the situation isn’t fading. I have a constant knot in my stomach. I feel on edge all the time. My mind is whirring. I have had to think about the details of the worst case scenario. I’ve done a phone tree for spreading the news. I’ve written a long list of where all my treasured possessions should go. I’ve talked with my nearest and dearest about the whos, wheres and hows of my funeral. There’s more to do – I have messages and letters and cards to write, a knitting project to finish, photos to print. Elliot has asked me if there are places I want to see or things I want to do but I can’t quite get my head around any sort of bucket list. I just want to live – normally.
And there are the seeds of hope. I don’t want to encourage these to grow because I can’t allow myself to hope too much. But there are new drug trials, more types of chemo, people who survive with liver mets. The new reality is a roller coaster – bleak and black yet punctuated by these seeds of hope. It’s more exhausting than anyone could imagine. I am sleeping well because I am so tired by it. And because sleep allows me to escape back to the old reality – the one in which Elliot and I grew old together, watching our kids thrive and flourish. In my new reality it is likely that my husband will become someone else’s husband, my kids will grow up without me, my friends will experience joys that will never be known to me. I can’t adjust to this new reality.
So instead I must be focused on the fight. I am going to fight. I am going to push the new reality away as hard as I can for as long as I can. I am going to open my mind and my heart and my body to any and all possibilities. I am asking G-d to keep the old reality going for me for as long as He allows. Sod the new reality. Sod it. Sod it. Sod it.