Monday, June 5, 2017

I Have This Hope

When someone you love has cancer, people try to tell you to be positive. They encourage you to live your life to the fullest, to cherish every moment, to take one step at a time. And for the most part, you can do that. You can take a deep breath and move forward, living life as normally as you can, accepting that cancer is just a little extra burden that you have to carry around.

But, because cancer is unpredictable, sometimes it decides to sucker punch you in the gut. You lose your positivity. Your strength starts to fade. You can't imagine how you're going to take one step forward, because you're so damn tired. And you try so hard to be positive, to look on the bright side, to hold onto hope, but cancer puts a dreariness over your world that you didn't even know was possible.

I've said before that cancer is a rollercoaster. One minute things are fine, the next you're going downhill fast, until someone or something sends you back up again.

My family has been on the cancer rollercoaster for almost four years now, and frankly, I hate it. We seem to have jumped ship to an even rockier, scarier rollercoaster now. I never asked for that, thank you very much.

It's been about 4 weeks since we found out that my dad's cancer had spread to his spinal fluid. He was put on chemo, which (we think) sent him into a weird state of confusion/unresponsiveness. He has pulled out of that now, but the poor guy is very weak, and very sick of being in the hospital. Of course, we know must also decide how to proceed, if he truly cannot handle the chemo. The medical team is running more tests and discussing options. While that's happening, we wait. We sit by his side and try to keep his spirits up. We test his memory. We support each other. We break down into tears, or fall apart laughing over the most ridiculous things.

I'm used to riding this rollercoaster with my family. But this time around, I told my coworkers, and basically anyone who will listen, that I need everyone to jump on with us. We know how serious this diagnosis is, and that it can be extremely difficult to treat. We have no idea what the next days, weeks, months will bring, but I am certain that they will bring a whole lot of emotion with them, and I am not going to lie and say that we can do this alone. We need prayers, hugs, etc.

Oh, and I'm getting married in just a little under 4 months. So on top of the journey with my dad, I am preparing for a life long commitment to my best friend, and planning for a celebration of that marriage. I have had a few people make suggestions for how I should handle my wedding (or ask what I am planning to do). I really didn't feel like I could write this blog without addressing the elephant in the room. So I will say this: My dad and I have talked. Tom and I have talked. We've got it covered. Trust me, the emotions I feel on this subject are quite intense, but I assure you all, everyone over here on my end is on the same page. I think that's really all anyone needs to know.

I will close this by saying thank you. Thank you for the prayers- if anyone is ever doubting the power of prayer you just need to come hang out with us for a while. Your prayers are working, and giving us both the grace and comfort that we need to power through. Thank you for the sweet texts, cards, messages, etc. Thank you for stepping up when we need someone to fill in for us. Thank you for the meals, treats and snacks. Thank you for being such wonderful, compassionate, beautiful souls. Thank you for everyone who sees me in Church and takes the time to ask how I am doing. Thank you for my coworkers for the coffee dates, encouragement, hugs, and for working so hard to put an end to this disease. And finally, thank you for hopping in a cart and taking this ride with us.

So, so, so much love. Like, an insane amount of love.

Oh- one more thing- of all the emotions I have been feeling as of late, the greatest of them all is hope. I have gotten a lot of that hope through all of you and your stories and your empathy. So thank you for giving me hope.