It's surreal to consider that it has only been two weeks since Linda went into the Good Samaritan emergency room. Weeks of increasingly concerning behavior, combined with nausea and headaches, culminated in discovering a mass growing in her brain. We stood last night at the same spot we stood 14 days earlier. Only this time, it was to see her checking out, not checking in.These past two weeks felt like two months. There are many more weeks ahead yet to play out. Some will likely seem to drag as these did, while others will fly by in ways that will leave them feeling cheated.
The full effects of the tumor, the damage caused by its growth pressing her brain against the inner skull, and the removal of 70% of the temporal lobe, are not fully understood. The amount of residual damage the return of cognitive function will come with time and rehabilitation. Her recovery so far has been encouraging. It was heartbreaking and concerning to hear her lost in what seemed like a free fall panic of just calling out for help in the initial days after surgery. Then one night, the kids sat for 1+ hours on a FaceTime call just talking to her endlessly until she fell asleep, and the next day her recovery started to accelerate exponentially. There are no scientific grounds to claim that it was instrumental, but it seems to help.
She seems to have recovered both her long and short-term memory, the latter being the biggest concern, along with impulse control. She still seems a bit off from what I might have considered her usual self, but not much more than she was a month or so before the whole situation played out. If her recovering continues as it has, she'll likely be 80% back to her old self in another week or two. Perhaps more.
But, she will also be facing the next challenge, coping with the diagnosis and the path ahead. The news she will hear is something she would typically, as I have known her, be incapable of handling.
My own daily "routines" are feeling more and more numbing. I sought them out, established them, and wanted for a pattern of consistent predictability. It gave me comfort to be forced a focus on simplicity. The past two weeks of upheaval, unrest, angst, fear, and uncertainty have shattered those practices. I have not tracked behavior modifications. I have not constrained my alcohol or food intake. I have not walked a set daily duration. That has all be "thrown asunder." Returning to work has kept the chaos at bay but not out of range. My thoughts are continually pulling my attention towards the weight of what is happening to her.
I talked to Jen and discussed how I might handle the news if the tables turned, and I was the one facing a clear and concise limited amount of time. Like many instances in life that one might speculate about, it's never really possible to imagine, wholly, without actually being in that same position. I think that is to say, I "speculate" that once the shock dissipated and the reality sunk in, I would find a degree of solace and comfort in at least having some indication of the time I have left. All the while, equally upset and angry about the time I can no longer assume I had. An assumption made without any basis beyond ignorant hope and desire.
I hope that she will take this time to more fully embrace the time she has left. I hope that she will pull from retirement, travel with the kids, put her affairs in order, and live every day to its fullest. That's what I would hope to do myself were I in that situation. But how do I know I'm not? Why am I preaching what I don't practice instead of waiting for something to happen that forces my hand?
Her world will shatter around her when she gets the news. It is her absolute worst nightmare. What she does from there is unknown. I hope to have a role in helping her process and respond with as much faith and positivity as one might muster. That's a tall order. It'll take time. What I do with this experience myself is secondary, but it certainly warrants my full attention and awareness.
Every day I write the listOf reasons why I still believe they do exist(a thousand beautiful things)
And even though it's hard to seeThe glass as full and not half empty(a thousand beautiful things)So, light me up like the sunTo cool down with your rainI never want to close my eyes againNever close my eyesAnnie Lennox – A Thousand Beautiful Things