Tulips were one of her favorite flowers so I pick them up whenever I see 'em at the store. A bloom this lovely feels like a gift she's giving.
Sometimes I go to sleep begging her to visit me in my dreams. A couple of weeks ago, the night my dad had his seizure, I dreamt that I got to hug her. (I always tell Dan that, more than anything, I wish I could just hug her again.) In the dream she laughed at me as I clung to her and asked me, "What is it you love so much about hugging me?" and I got to tell her about the warmth of her hug, the love of her hug, the feel of her arms. In the morning I felt like she came for a visit when I needed her most. I'm hoping she decides to make a habit of this.
Bad news today. The pathology report showed that the tumor in my dad's brain was a malignant high-grade tumor versus a low-grade one as they originally expected. This means that recurrence is not only likely, but could be quick. (Though I have no idea what "quick" yet means in terms of tumor recurrence.) Basically, it's a more aggressive tumor than they initially expected (a III on the I to IV scale). The neurosurgeon recommended that my dad start chemotherapy and radiation as soon as possible in order to hopefully kill those microscopic tumor cells that weren't removed with surgery and thwart/slow growth. An appointment with an oncologist has already been scheduled.
More oncologists.
My dad, like all of us, seems to be a bit shocked. He'll end his stay at the rehab hospital this coming Friday and then head home for out-patient occupational, physical and speech therapy three times a week. He's managing some longer sentences with effort and is able to express his needs but he's not yet capable of real conversation and is still struggling to express spontaneous thought. The doctor told us again today that it could take six months to a year for his speech to fully return.
Not much more to say on this front. None of us know enough about the specifics of this tumor to understand more than this. Questions bring more questions. I hate how fucking familiar that feels.
And I wish my mom was here to guide us through it.
Bit of a bummer, this entry, but I know some of you were waiting for the news...
It's 7:50 and I'm in bed...that's the kind of tired we're talking about here. An emotional fatigue that is just oppressive. I can't imagine what my dad is feeling.
No witty ending here...just a solemn what the fuck?
Love this lady. We used this photo for the prayer cards.
