Dead Leaves, Not Dead Dreams

 I’ve been too exhausted to share my thoughts. Or too negative. Perhaps a bit of both? 

Working from hospital parking lots and lounges. Eating food I wouldn’t feed my dogs. Talking to my pumpkin spice lattes after dropping Couraira at school and logging into work. I love my job. I love my kids. I love my dogs (clearly since I order the expensive food from Chewy). There isn’t much I don’t love. Other than bad news. Cottage cheese. And doctors with less than ideal answers. Or the lack of answers in general. 

I have gotten a lifetime’s worth of bad news. So I cling to the good. My kids, my husband is still alive, my work, my family, my friends. Those all start with “my”,  since I can’t speak for anyone else other than myself during our journey. 

Every appointment we have lately holds another blow. We have been trying to redeem our spirits after Boston. We came back and had to repeat a liver biopsy. Repeat a chest and abdominal CT. Then the attempted return to the hallowed halls of NYOH for chemo and immunotherapy. This was all in a week. 

But, Matt’s bloodwork came reflecting a white blood cell count that had plummeted by more than half. A high risk of infection looming. And his cancer numbers had gone up. As if that hadn’t been enough, ever since the biopsy he was experiencing blurred vision. After circling amongst doctors to inquire what to do, yesterday I rushed Matt to have a head CT to rule out disease progression to the brain. 

My husband has tolerated endless appointments. We have rushed in circles. The tension always mounting. The unknowns always weighing down. I feel for him and sometimes I can’t stand myself. Especially, when the situation overwhelms me and I seem insensitive or scattered.

His strength is admirable. Even when he cries spontaneously throughout the day. Or walks around the house in a depression like stupor, I remind myself he’s carrying the weight of the world. 

For all the tears he’s shed lately and all the grieving I’ve witnessed him processing through, I haven’t shed any. I’m not sure why. But, I just don’t know if I have any left.

Instead I focus on the things I can do to keep the household running, and to keep the memories coming. Planning the Disney trip, buying an old school Sony camcorder, and scheduling family pictures. I want to hold onto the hope that we will get some normalcy back. A semblance of our life.

Today Matt saw a retina specialist. The CT ruled out disease progression to the brain, but the specialist says Matt’s diabetes may be causing the swelling that is blurring Matt’s vision. He had a laser treatment and will try injections aside from his cancer treatments that we still haven’t resumed due to his health. He missed our attempt at fall pictures, so we’ll reschedule and try again.

This brings me to the inspiration for my title. Dead leaves. We took some pictures without Matt at Washington Park. He was stuck with doctors, and I had the girls with his mom. So there we were in our matching velvet dresses, and our photog (and friend)had Couraira throwing up leaves. 

I picked dead leaves from her hair tonight. While I sat in the dining room with both girls, and no Matt. The feeling of exhaustion overwhelming me. I put the little dead leaves in the garbage and realized I wouldn’t put my dreams there. I won’t leave them under the sink to die. The fight might feel lost, but it’s not over yet. 

So instead of throwing my thoughts into the garbage I’m dumping them here. And I’m throwing out a cork from a bottle of Josh Cabernet, because I want a glass of wine and I’ve been gifted the perspective to know it will be okay.