No Hope, Just Heartache.

 Sitting in the parking lot at Couraira’s dance class. My friend just left to bring her older daughter to cheer practice. Matt didn’t want to stay home alone, so he’s in the car with a sleeping Cerafina. 

 I told everyone today I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t even know what I would say. The truth I guess. 

The doctor was nice enough, and his delivery wasn’t meant to be callous. He started the conversation and kept his hands folded in his lap. His first words set the tone. “I’m really concerned.”

I don’t always know when Matt wants me to speak for him. But, today he sat silent. I was the mouthpiece. I drilled in on the tough questions. I told him we want what every cancer patient wants. Remission, to be deemed NED, a cure. I basically snapped when he asked if there was anything else. There’s so much more, but cancer has changed our hopes and postponed our dreams. 

We would love our lives back, but this is our life now. We have swallowed the pill and stomached every serving of bad news. Matt has fought through ten chemotherapy treatments and nine immunotherapy treatments. I’ve watched him cry, I’ve been taking the brunt of his anger and breathing through his breakdowns. 

I have eaten every fucking slice of humble pie. I have never been more grateful to just wake up. I have worked, two jobs. Even though it sometimes seems almost silly in the grand scheme of things. But sitting in this exam room , I finally shed my first angry tears. Not sad, not frustrated, I’m pissed. 

We drive here looking for options, and instead we were told to be happy with this aggressive disease, that Matt’s even walking. I had to ask my questions in different ways. I paraphrased then rephrased again. Nothing changed the answers. Matt should have his affairs in order. We should just enjoy the time, while he still has quality of life. 

He handed me tissue, and I asked the question. The question that no one wants to ask, but it’s like an elephant in the room. It’s heavier then all the fat kids at fat camp put together. 

Is he dying? What’s the prognosis?

At first I thought he had refused to answer. I respected that. But, then he twisted at his folded hands and started to respond slowly. Calculating his words as he spoke. “It could be a year, it could be more. Just try and stay positive.”

That was the straw the broke the cancer patients back. It was like a scene from “Harry Potter ”. When Mrs. Figg takes the stand and describes the dementor attack in Little Whinging:  

 “Then everything went cold, as though all the happiness had gone from the world.”

So back to the truth.

I called to check on the status of Matt’s case review at City of Hope. We should hear from them by Friday. Until then. I guess I’ll just be over here wondering where God is. I’ve had my faith tested before. But, this. This is just unbearable. 

The truth is…today was not what we needed. It brought no hope. Only heartache. Thankfully, tomorrow is another day. One where we will get some new images taken. One where we can look for hope elsewhere. Even if we have to dig deep.