Thoughts to Ponder

The weekend trip to Unionville went well. Brian was very sleepy all day Saturday, but had mostly bounced back on Sunday and was able to enjoy catching up with family. The kids enjoyed the break, and as always, Tye loved the farm!

We returned home on Monday evening to a dead Nemo. Let's just hope the fish wasn't floating during Sunday's open house! Tye didn't flinch, and we just told him we would have to get another Nemo. As far as the open house, there are two interested parties, so we can only continue to pray that God puts the right family in place to cross paths with us who can make this house their home.

Brian's grandma had a bad fall late Monday evening. She stumbled in the dark and fell into a door jam and broke her nose, along with lots of other bumps and bruises and rug burns. She spent some time in the ER at Unionville, then went by ambulance to Kirksville, but has now returned home. Brian chatted with her this morning and asked if she was trying to keep up with him on hospital stays and ambulance rides, and she said no. Brian was relieved that she was home today, as he was very worried about her.

Things have been an emotional roller coaster. It seems Brian cries when I am not, and I am a mess when he is a rock. The reality of the potential of this disease weighs heavy on our hearts, while the hope for healing is still ever present. We have so much we wanted to do. It feels like our hopes and dreams are just falling in our laps, and we can't do anything to stop it. We are working hard to regroup and try to better enjoy each precious moment, while still keeping the faith that the Great Physician will restore Brian's health.

I have been battling extreme anxiety. I'm not sure how this would feel (thankfully), but I speculate that it is like knowing that Brian is going to be killed in a car wreck, but not knowing when. As Father Martin told me today, time to prepare is probably the one gift that cancer does give. He has some journaling he wants to do for the kids, and chooses to believe it will be something he himself can share with them in the future. I'm planning to journal too because it is a gift I want to share with my kids too...and I am reminded than none of us has our time here on earth guaranteed.

I wrote about this a while back....my struggle with hope and realism. I didn't think it was possible to be able to be in both places. I still don't know if it is possible. I think it is possible to pretend you can feel both sides; I think it is possible to fool yourself into understanding both sides; I think it is crazy to think it can really happen. Maybe that is how I'm starting to feel, uncertain which side I am on. And I'm struggling with possibly being caught in the middle, where I am not feeling realistic, and I'm not feeling hopeful.

I hope you never have to feel this, because it is a pain so deep, I can't even explain.

We pray in a special way tonight for Frank, Bryce, Sheila, and Mike...they have each taken a turn for the worse over the past few weeks, and they and their families are in very difficult positions between hope and realism. We pray for Mikki's brother-in-law and Dave, who both succumbed to the disease this week. Their battles are not in vain, as we fight like hell for ourselves, as well as in honor of them...those lost too soon to a disease too aggressive and under-researched. I guess each of us in the battle hopes it will be us, our patient who makes the turn, who provides the answers to the cure in the battle against melanoma. And until then, the war wages on. Maybe that is why I choose to keep them at the front of my mind and heart during Brian's battle, because we are fighting for OUR family, for OUR Brian, for OUR life; but also for the families torn apart, the marriages cut too short, the fatherless/motherless children, the lost sons/daughters/brothers/sisters/friends, who have all fought like hell, in hopes of a more effective battle for the future...and whose battle was not theirs to win here on earth. OUR fight is THEIR fight. They will never be forgotten.

I also pray tonight for Amy in her battle against leukemia, and in the days leading up to her 2nd transplant. Please keep her in your prayers in a special way, and also her sister, who will be her donor.

Sometimes I often think that melanoma provides us with a shield, a repellent to other frustrating and devastating events. My mom's death was a classic example that this is not the case. We are just as vulnerable as anyone when it comes to everyday frustrations of life.

That probably accounts for the speeding ticket I got back in 2005 when heading to Unionville...Brian was in agony from his radiation treatments...we came through Bethany, and he was practically moaning...I stepped on it a little in hopes of getting him to a more comfortable spot...grain bins on the east edge of Bethany...nailed...patrolman said he was sorry about my husband, asked if I sold Mary Kay (sticker in the window) and gave me a ticket.

Or it might account for the speeding ticket Brian got in 2006 on our way to Columbia (you would think we would learn)...coming past Worlds of Fun going about 70 in a 65...past Front Street and the rotten egg smell...rounded the corner...nailed going 74 in a 65 with cars sailing past us...I actually thought Brian was kidding when he said he thought we were getting stopped...no chit chat...just a ticket...we have learned our lesson I hope.

Or it might account for the fact that our house hasn't sold.

Or maybe that flat tire I had 6 weeks ago.

Or maybe the fact that a semi threw a rock and broke our windshield on Monday night when we were coming through Conception on our way home. So I cried from Conception to Ravenwood, laughed from Ravenwood to Mozingo, then drove in shock back to town....and then pulled the Ann Heflin syndrome...all the while thinking that the perfect circle break was just about a quarter of an inch shy of breaking completely, in which case it would have likely come through the windshield instead of bouncing off...made me run off the road etc. etc. My mom could always find the good in everything.

Even so, we aren't surrounded by a special bubble, dubbed the melanoma family who has special privileges that make us immune to the frustrations of everyday life. Nope. Nada. Doesn't work that way. Instead, it is like salt in the wound, like insult to injury. I am somewhat getting used to it, getting kicked when we're down. On the other hand, although I'm not grateful for these additional trials, it does remind me that melanoma doesn't define us, that our lives are both normal and chaotic, that we are not above humanity, and we are not grandfathered into a clause that protects us. As much as I would like a break, it gives me the chance to realize that life is not always fair (advice I heard today), and I can only hope that God has put everything in place in my life to have the support, courage and faith to face my life, one day at a time.

That thought alone brings peace to the uncertainty of this thing called life, and for that, I am grateful.

Enjoy each precious moment,
Jenni