The glioblastoma wife

Otis sits on my chest like he owns the place. He can be a real turd.

The radiation oncologist upped the dose. Bruce is losing his hair. On one side.

I was sad to learn our friend “Sherlock” finished his radiation treatments. I’ll miss Jim, too. He finished yesterday.

I try to exercise. I managed to walk fast for 12 minutes yesterday before the oncologist called.

I’d been trying to reach him for over a week. He can be elusive.

I wrote a blog post last weekend that probably pissed off my friends.

Before Bruce was in the hospital the last time, we had no washing machine. We have a new one, but I haven’t done laundry in days.

When the oncologist’s triage nurse returned my call, I was in Rite-Aid. Forced to talk in the store, I couldn’t take notes.

The night before, another nurse called when I was sitting in the back of a moving car. It was dark. I could barely hear her. I couldn’t take notes.

I was very angry last Saturday. I wanted to break something, as in smash a large glass window. I didn’t.

I ordered the next batch of chemo from the specialty pharmacy. It arrives Friday.

I take Trazodone to sleep. It mostly works.

Today is December 19. We decorated our tree last night.

We need new tires on the Subaru.

My eyes are bloodshot.

I can’t see my future.

And, I am grateful…

Bruce has energy today. He is mentally clear. He smiles.

My niece and our friends have kept a Meal Train going. If they didn’t, we’d live on noodles. And water.

Bruce had radiation today, #13. There are seven left.

I made a new friend at radiation, Rachel, who was very nice.

The staff smiles when they see Bruce walk in for treatment. It lifts his spirits. And mine.

Bruce and I feel more connected than ever before. We’ve been married for 35 years.

Cancer provides an opportunity to live. To see. To feel. To love. Much deeper and fuller.

This is hard, incredibly hard, and there isn’t another place on earth I’d rather be.

Otis can also be sweet. When he’s half asleep.