I was telling my old friend Joe how sometime this month marks fifteen years since Danielle and I met. She was hired as the new Youth Specialist at the Dr Phillips branch of Orange County library, and spent her first two weeks in training at the main library downtown, where I was located. She was a newlywed and I was married, too, and we all liked her and that was the extent of it. It didn’t hurt that she was a stunning looker, too. Nine months later we connected in a “misery loves company” sort of way, since both our marriages had fallen apart, and we shared our stories with each other. One day that summer she came in on her day off and gave me her phone number. I looked at that scrap of paper in my hand with butterflies in my stomach, because it had not occurred to me that I might actually have a chance with this beautiful girl—she was out of my league. That moment goes in my Top Ten Best Days Ever. The other night I reminded her how she made the first move and she said, “I wanted to love you”. And she still does. Sometimes she will suddenly reach out and take my hand and pull it to her and give the back of it a kiss. She might kiss my neck while I’m hoisting her up from her seat for a transfer. At the park the other day I had left her in her wheelchair to go bag some Molly poop, and she beckoned me back with her good arm. I ran over and asked what she needed, and she pulled me close for a kiss. She doesn’t say much; in fact I wonder if the new tumor is already affecting her, since Dr Rosen said it is on the part of the midbrain that contains speech motor abilities. Some of her speech exercises go well, and others not so much. Her short-term memory is just that: the first few days after this latest news she brought it up a few times, but now that some time has passed, she is fully aware of the situation. She will wake up and immediately say, “When do I have to go back to the hospital?” or “The doctor says I can’t go”, which I take to mean she knows something’s up. She might cry when she thinks about it, and yesterday she said, “I can’t believe my cancer is back”. I just tell her the doctors are on it and the sooner the better, and that usually calms her down. I tell her we have no choice but to take action now. Her walking continues to improve, and she gets stronger every day. One night last week, she was seated on the bedside toilet and I left the room for just a minute and heard a thump. She had knocked over a glass of water on the little TV dinner table next to her seat on the couch, but she was sitting back in place, with her pants down. I almost had a seizure, and really yelled at her about letting me help her, and she started to cry, saying “I’m sorry”. I was just scared about her falling, but then I felt like a real ass for hurting her feelings. That night when we went to bed, I smiled in the dark because I realized that incident shows she is gaining strength. You can see for yourself: scroll down my page to the Pinktober picture and there she is, standing between Shelly and me, on the right side of the photo. That was taken last Friday morning, and she told me before we left the house that she was going be standing in the picture. That’s my girl! Still no progress in the right arm. She is scheduled to start out-patient rehab next Tuesday, but we will know more after meeting with Dr Rosen tomorrow (I mistakenly said it was Wednesday before). I won’t be surprised if he admits her to the hospital very soon for the installation of the new port. Her chemo will be out-patient, as before. We will meet her new neuro-oncologist soon, too. The suspense is killing me. I can’t stay focused on anything, have no appetite, and stay on the verge of tears. Yesterday I went to the garage on the pretext of folding some towels and really let it out. It helps but is a temporary fix. I fall asleep at night pretty easily by thinking of something else, but every night I wake up for two or more hours at some point and just fight it. I can gently reach for Danielle’s hand and hold it and that makes me feel better. My mind will suddenly flash a dark thought and I have to shake it off; I suppose it’s only natural but it is upsetting to say the least. The sooner we get this next step started the better. So if you see me and I look old, tired, and bewildered, it’s because I am. Thank you for your kind thoughts; sorry it’s too hard to respond right now.
Posted on: Wed, 22 Oct 2014 11:54:14 +0000
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