The tumor is getting larger.
In just a few days we go in for more tests, more questions and more discussion of what 60/40 odds really means.
The comforting news is the new surgeon is Harvard educated and we've been told he is one of the best in the country for this type of surgery.
The non-comforting news is that 40% odds, while better than nothing, are still only 40%. It means fearing the worst, late at night when everyone else is asleep, it means letting go of hope for a moment, and truly fearing the worst. And then there is fearing worse than the worst, and I don't think I'm prepared to articulate that.
They remind me that 40% is still 40%. I remind them again of the rarity of this fast growing tumor. They tell me not to dwell on that and I try very hard to take their advice.
With a non existent local support system, it means going it alone with two children for a 6 hour surgery, a 1-2 day hospital stay and then 14 days of difficult recovery at home. It means preparing for the moment when the surgeon walks into the waiting room and I stand, straining to read the expression on his face. It means being stronger for the two children who will be seated behind me than I'll feel for myself.
As I watch them play together, I can't help but feel a sense of loss already. I don't want this to be the last time I see them like this. I'm grateful he'll have his life, but with a 60% chance he'll lose the ability to smile or to speak, I can't help but feel that loss.
A letter came in the mail today from his mother. In it she writes that she is proud of us for taking a chance and following our dreams. I've read the last line at least 15 times.
Just don't give up.
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6 comments:
I wish I could be closer to be a part of the support network that you really need at a time like this. Know that I am thinking of you guys all these miles adrift and I *know* that things will be okay. xx
Miles adrift but inches away :) I think having philes in my life keeps me sane. Thank you for thinking of us, it definitely does not go unnoticed!
Sweeie there is no way not to dwell on the dark side at times. Just go there and let go and then come back to the sunshine. No matter what happens you will be ok, all of you will be ok, the strength and faith you all have will get you through. I believe in you and I believe in Garrett. I only wish I could be there with you and for you. I love you Tiffany.
Hugs. I'll be thinking of, sending good vibes and praying for you guys - hell, anything that'll work. Hang in there, and don't give up!
How much I WISH I were in your area! If there's anything I can do please let me know. If I were close I'd make a casserole for you and the kiddos so you don't have to cook. But maybe I can overnight some famous bbq from here in Memphis. I don't know. SOMETHING. But I hate not being able to help and do nothing.
Writing is also my outlet, my counselor. Except that I usually let things sit and stew until I'm forced to deal with them, all the while existing and going on with a smile plastered on my face but tears pouring down on the inside.
Again, Tiffany, I wish there was something I could do to help. So instead I'll pray, chant, send up a word to the big man upstairs letting him know that I do expect him to keep an eye on Garrett but not call him home just yet. And also to keep a hand on your shoulder, giving you the strength to be the support line for your family at such a rough time.
I'm so sorry to hear about your troubles. We've never met but after reading your posts I think of you, and hopefully some of my positive vibes reach you from across the seas. P.S. you're a brilliant writer.
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