Wednesday, February 11, 2009

Just some thoughts.

I keep saying I’m going to start writing stuff down and then all of a sudden something else happens and I distracted. Or I just don’t want to share what I’m feeling and thinking. I don't think this is going to change any time soon.
Scott decided on Sunday morning to stop the cancer treatments. The side effects from the treatment came on too soon and were/are still brutal. what should have happened in about 10 days, started happening in 2-3 days. The soreness in his mouth didn’t compare to the sore throat. The weight loss was HUGE. The loss of appetite, the saliva disappearing, the taste buds being fried and the sore throat all led to the weight loss.

We’ve had so many conversations about so many things that there’s no way I can write down and put into words the emotions that go with all of this. No one can truly prepare you for this period of time! I was telling a friend of ours last night that I didn’t think I needed to be prepared for this yet. I thought I had plenty of time to make decisions like the ones I’ve had to make lately. I thought once I retired I would think about this kind of thing. But here I am, facing this giant. This big, bad-ass, ugly evil thing called cancer. Yes, it’s evil and it’s nasty. This can only be of Satan.

How can sadness and joy live together in the same moment, I don’t know but I know that it does. I live it every minute of every day.

As I lay awake in the middle of the night and listen to my husband breathe, I wonder if today will be the day. Will I be ready? And then he wakes up and it’s not today, not yet. And I can breathe a sigh of relief. He’s happy and sick at the same time. And I'm happy he's happy, and I'm sad he's sick - all at the same time.

I try to have faith in the miracle that he so desires. His faith never wavers – if God chooses to let him live longer he will, if he doesn’t then he gets to go home. He's fine with whatever God decides to do.

Here's the other side of it: then he’s not here for me to “play” with. There’s joy that he will no longer be miserable but then there’s the “selfish” sadness that he won’t be here anymore either.

I’m reminded of when I was a small child about age 6 or 7 and my very best friend in the whole world moved very far away. I was happy they were getting a new house but I was sad that I wouldn’t see her again and we wouldn't get to talk and play anymore. I was never the same after that.

That’s what this feels like only there is that joy that I will see him again in heaven when it’s my turn to come up and “play” with him and Jesus. But while I'm here, I'll never be the same again.