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.

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  12 comments for “The glioblastoma wife

  1. December 21, 2018 at 8:48 pm

    I’m here, just listening. I know the feeling of wanting to break something. it feels good when you can do it.

    Liked by 1 person

    • December 22, 2018 at 9:32 am

      My desire to not clean up the mess won out over my desire to break the glass. I’m curious how others manage to restrain themselves when they want to break something. So far, so good here. Can’t say tomorrow I’ll have the same control. πŸ˜‰

      Liked by 1 person

  2. December 21, 2018 at 8:12 pm

    This is such a poignant description of living with a loved one who is facing a terminal illness. Just be as gentle with yourself as you can, and take each day as it comes.

    Liked by 1 person

    • December 22, 2018 at 9:25 am

      Thank you, Ann. It has finally helped me to let it out a bit by writing here, home base. Our days are pretty low key, not a lot of activity outside treatment and rest. That is what he needs right now. Staying positive. ❀

      Liked by 1 person

  3. December 21, 2018 at 9:37 am

    I loved the way you just spelled it out in individual thoughts. The thing I think that stinks the most about terminal illness is when they say “we’re buying you time.” It’s sure not the same kind of time that we had before the diagnosis. Valuable yes, but not the same.

    Liked by 1 person

    • December 21, 2018 at 11:52 am

      Exactly! Time filled with fear, uncertainty, and endless doctor’s visits is not the same as life before cancer. Still, while our loved one is here, we make the very best of the precious time we do have. ❀

      Liked by 1 person

      • December 21, 2018 at 1:36 pm

        I am glad you understood me. Yes I agree we need to make every moment count when we are dealing with a terminal diagnosis.

        Liked by 1 person

  4. Amy
    December 20, 2018 at 5:00 am

    My heart aches for you.

    Liked by 1 person

    • December 20, 2018 at 8:13 am

      It can be very rough, but we are finding small joys in each day. Truly. I am grateful for all that we have in each other and in our family. ❀

      Liked by 1 person

  5. Susan
    December 19, 2018 at 6:05 pm

    Right now you have the hardest job on earth. I am so glad you can see some of the positives (well, almost positives). I especially agree that cancer provides the chance to slow down and look at what is important, what is precious, what is beautiful–those things we often miss because we are in such a hurry to get to the next moment of our lives. I would love to see a picture of your Christmas tree.

    Liked by 1 person

    • December 20, 2018 at 8:13 am

      It is hard, but we have each other and we are pushing through. Somehow. Cancer provides a new lens through which we are able to see what matters much more clearly. When I think back on our early married life and during the years when the kids came along, when life became so hectic, I realize I have been very blessed. I wouldn’t change a thing. ❀

      Liked by 1 person

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