"No shit!" you say.
I can’t sleep.
The house needs to be cleaned DESPERATELY!!!
I can’t remember the difference between my right and left breast or hand!
I’m in purgatory.
Having run the gamut of feelings these past three months (FUCK three fucking months!) I can truly say I haven’t a clue how I feel about any of this.
I’m not sleeping well. I go with two to three hours a night for several nights (I’m amazing productive at 2 in the morning!) then crash for one night and the pattern repeats itself.
I can’t remember to eat. When I do, I am ravished!!.
I have moments, like when I am working on my business, where I feel pure unadulterated bliss! And I want to stay there and rest.
And I have other moments, when I can view with some distance, this life of ours and feel pride in how well I’m doing. How all the lessons from last time are coming together like Obama’s campaign? It all fits.
And then I find myself sobbing for no particular reason.
Maybe this is yet another place of transition. Maybe this is the place where I honor that I am stronger than I ever imagined. And I adjust to that thought, try it on and where it around, making sure it fits my uneven breasts, my athletic thighs and my mind. Maybe I allow myself to get used to it. So instead of wondering IF I can, I think HOW DOES THIS WORK for me?
I don’t’ have much else to offer tonight.
My thoughts from the last couple of days.
March 12, 2009
A LOVE LETTER TO ART
My quest was to write you a love letter a day. Somewhere between emptying the urinals, giving you your medication and visiting you in the hospital, I lost sight of it……
As I watch you sleep, with your black cap on, nose tucked under the bed covers like a child, hope comes and I dream of you watching Pallas graduate college, celebrating with Ezra regarding his first ”real” job and witnessing the birth Langston’s first child. (Sorry to who will be marrying him, but we will be in the delivery room!) I know the odds are against it.
And really, it's not the reality that gives me hope. And besides it's not then that I love you. It’s looking back, the home births, the fights about which route if faster, the way you really can’t dance and how intense you get when we make love that remind me how good hope is....
Hope. I love you. Oh and you too honey!
March 13, 2009
Art went to see Ezra’s circle time at school. Ezra asked 17 times that morning “Dad, are you coming to my circle time today?”
Watching Ezra watching Art. At that moment I realize the brave face Ezra wears every day is a mask. Even I fall for it. He longed for Art. He rarely took his eye off of his father during the 20 minute performance.
And then, when Art was leaving, slowly, on his crutches, I watched Ezra wanting nothing more than to come hug his father, to be held by him, to feel Art’s big arms wrap around him, just like before, when Art wasn’t sick. And I cried because I saw closely how much he misses being touched by Art and I forgot.
I forgot how important it is to his little 6 year old soul.
March 15, 2009
GOD….I just need to sleep!
To relax, a but tis a memory!
I, Kim Hamer, have NEVER had trouble sleeping and now I’m the fucking energizer bunny. Someone take the damn batteries out!
March 17, 2009
The man in the white coat said “No more chemo.
I’m sorry whaaaaaat?
“No more chemo for now. We need to give Art’s bone marrow a chance to fully recover.”
No more chemo for right now. I heard it correctly. Pet Scan next week. Chemo when? Shrug of shoulders.
“How’s your breathing Art.”
“Good.” he said.
“Well then let’s give you a break. Your job now is to gain weight and strength. Ideally I’d love you to be in the shape you were this fall before the triathlon.” (Ha, ha! Very funny, mother f*&#*@#!)
“Stem cell in 6 weeks at the earliest. May. Chemo again in April.”
Well then, this almost feels normal (except for the part of Art not being able to walk more than 100 yrds, my having to clean up after him, making sure he takes his meds and yada yada, yada!)
What the hell are we supposed to do with almost normal! My adrenalin (if there is any left) has no place to go!
March 18, 2009
Langston turned 12 today. I pulled off the whole birthday ritual by myself which included decorating the kitchen, present buying, arranging for Pallas and Ezra to buy presents, making the number 12 out of pancake batter (those twos are impossible!!) taking pictures while he opened his presents before school. It also involved making his favorite meal for dinner, trying to avoid the word "no" all day and the special Hamer birthday cake and...remembering to take pictures. I did the whole thing by myself, and got a few good shots to boot!
Ezra said “Next year mom, I want a normal birthday, one where Daddy isn’t sick.” Ezra's birthday is March 24th. For him it probably feels he's had more abnormal birthdays than normal.
Oh and my favorite comment today.
"Hey! You don't look like your husband's dying!"
"What should I look like?" (And I will ignore the assumption that you think Art is dying.)
"I don't know, but just not as good as you look."
Note to self: Look up "cancer caregiver" and see if there is a photo so that I can see what I am supposed to look like.