It's just been that kind of week.
2016 is like the third date. You have an idea of where it's going, you like the way it looks, but nevertheless it has the ability to shock you.
Then you end up topless in the backseat of a Subaru.
Wait. Rewind.
It's been eight months and one day since Sharon's life-saving surgery to remove the left lobe of her liver. While researching something else, I did a quick run-up on cholangiocarcinoma, only to find the same words as a year ago: "VERY RARE. Fewer than 20,000 US cases per year."
And yet, somehow, eight months and one day after her hemihepatectomy, this is all I know:
Happy New Year, Motherfuckers.
I, like most rational humans, have anxiety about cancer. Not just its origins, but its continuous presence. Would it come back? Are there extra cells, just waiting to collaborate?
But, guys. With every negative CT, her life expectancy increases exponentially.
She beat it. As of now, she WON.
So let's get to the other joy:
I wasn't able to travel home for Christmas, but everyone else did. The abundance of holiday noise and joy seemed to perk Ed up, because every since the festivities, he's been active as hell.
"OMG, Ed, the therapist and I walked halfway down the street. I am stoked!"
(Yes, my mother used the word "stoked". Don't judge.)
Ed's sudden physical improvement led to a PT consult, which means that he'll get specialized therapy twice a week to help his mobility.
If you're a med-nerd, you know that the recovery time for TBIs is generally limited to the first two years.
Well, the Old Guy decided punctuality was overrated.
Fuck you, I won't do what you tell me
These things are all, in my opinion, desperately earned positive moments.
One of the most annoying phrases I've heard is, "Everything happens for a reason." This is second only to, "God has a plan for all of us."
No. Screw that.
I don't believe things always happen for a reason. I don't think my family had to endure a metric fuckton of strain to get to this weirdly peaceful time, a warm limbo where we're not expecting the worst, but not anticipating the best.
I guess we're just hovering, for now. And that's OK.
"Him's nervous." "Nervous, or excited?" "Shittin' bricks."
