Then 12:04 came around and I felt a little annoyed that there was no notification from MyChart saying my results were available. By 12:06, both results from the bone scan and the CT scan were available. I, of course, logged in and checked them out.
My heart sank as I read them.
enlarged
progressive
slightly larger
increasing
Findings: Slowly progressive metastatic disease.
8 hours later, I can see some hope in this. "Slowly" is better than "quickly" and "slightly" is better than "significantly." And there are few new lesions, just what's there is bigger.
But 8 hours ago? 8 hours ago, I was having a hard time doing much other than cry. I cried on my couch. I cried in my room. I cried in the bathroom. I had a hard time breathing. Take a breath, open the floodgates. I'd take deep breaths and calm myself down, only to look at my kids and the tears would start falling again. Arlo brought me his penguin squishmallow and Evan came over, put his arm around me, and just sat next to me.
This is unfair on so many levels. It's unfair of me to cry like this in front of them. To let them see so much emotion from a lady who usually just handles things. To know what I know and not tell them all of the truth because while I know the outcome of all of this, I don't actually know the timeline.
Even though today was Evan's first day of second semester, we loaded up in the car with Bendy because Dahlia is in heat, and headed to Kohl's to return some pants and buy some new ones for Arlo. For some reason, he just keeps growing. Who knew this would happen with kids?
I parked us out away from people because I like my car with no door dings. It takes forever for me to hobble anywhere now, though. As we made it about halfway between the car and the building, I reached for Evan's arm.
Are you ok, mom?
Yes, baby, just a little pain in my hip, you know.
We returned our pants, found new ones, and looked for a new overshirt for Evan (unfortunately places seem to have fewer choices for kids his size). We took pictures of what we liked to shop online, and then I hobbled over to the single checkout location in the whole store. As we approached the line of about 10 people, I could feel their eyes, as they watch this not-so-old, pretty overweight lady, hobbling around with two man-sized boys beside her. What do they see? What do they think?
Arlo decided to go out to the car since the line was so long and not moving too quickly. We don't like to leave our animals alone in the car very long, but we also aren't the kind of people to bring our animals in with us. This means, a lot of the time, someone is left in the car with them. Anyway, once Evan and I paid for our items, we headed out to the car. Evan led the way and I hobbled behind him.
Are you racing me? Because if you are, you know you're just going to win.
I hear a dog bark then. It's muffled, but I hear it. I look forward and I see that the whole car is rocking back and forth because it's not just any dog barking: it's Bendy. He barked the whole time, until I opened the car door.
He's shaking. Arlo said.
Before I fully realize it, I say Probably because he though I was a zombie and figured I was coming to get you. It's been bothering me for awhile, this hobbling thing, but now I realize that my stilted movement is quite like the slow-moving zombies of The Walking Dead. I'm definitely not like the zombies of World War Z. I couldn't crawl on top of anyone's shoulders at this point of my life. :)
We went to the library for a book -- the play, A Raisin in the Sun. While we were right there, we grabbed 3 milk shakes, a scotch and soda, and a basket of French fries.
There's nothing that will make you feel better than fat food.
Arlo - Like that fat guy says in Austin Powers, I eat when I'm depressed, I'm depressed when I eat.
All of us laughed.
I drove toward the freeway from Connection, and used my favorite half-circle on-ramp and we headed home. We listened to pop music and some rap music from my childhood.
Nothing like reminiscing to music from when I was 12 to make today better.
And I am better. Not like health-wise better, of course, but mind-wise, I am. Getting out of the house, with a change of scenery helped.
Bo's birthday is on Thursday. What a rotten birthday week for him. We're going to go out to dinner for his birthday though, no matter what. I asked him if he'd made reservations, and he said no. I told him:
I'll call. Gotta live while the living is good or at least while the living's still breathing.
I'm making a lot of jokes and references to death lately. I think I hope that if I say it aloud enough that it won't be so scary, that it won't be so sad. I'll let you all know how it pans out for me, but I'm suspecting that I will never be ready to just go, to just say goodbye.
How does a mama and wife, who really generally likes her life, prepare for a future of saying goodbye?
She doesn't. Not really. Not fully.
I can make lists and notebooks. Do the will and fill out the paperwork.
I can save a little. I can declutter. I can write down the stories.
But I can't really prepare to say goodbye.
I have to focus on living, on each day that is still mine.
Sometimes, it just takes me longer to find my breath.
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