Torn

It has been nine months since the horrendous disease invaded Mike’s brain. Because of the way the disease attached itself to Mike’s brain lining (believe it or not, that’s way worse than having tumors on the brain itself, which Mike also has), Mike’s prognosis was six to eight weeks. Six to eight weeks. Yet, nine months later, Mike is still here. No, the fact that Mike is still here is by no means a miracle. It is by no stretch of imagination a sign of treatments having worked. And it certainly does not mean that Mike is beating this disease or is going to get better; he is not. Mike is here today only and only because he has been fighting tooth and nail to hang on. For three years, Mike waged a heroic battle against the cancer. For the last painful couple of months, he has waged a war against death. And even tonight, as I look at his frail body, watch him wince in pain with each slight movement, and listen to him yell nonsense about climbing a tree with dollar bills and a car on his back, I still see no signs of surrender. That will to fight, refusal to give-up, and urge to live encapsulates Mike.

The last nine months have been long, incredibly difficult, emotionally and physically draining, and downright excruciating. For Mike, for me, and for both our families. As I sit in bed next to Mike tonight watching him sleep, I feel at a crossroads with my emotions. The selfish part of me wants Mike here, for just one more day, one more week, one more month. Just a bit longer so I can lay next to him and hear him breathe, hold his hand while we sleep, kiss my favorite part of his forehead, or hear him call my name (just so he can ask for something and decide he doesn’t want it by the time I bring it). He is not ready to go, and I am not ready to let him go. Yet the rational part of me knows better. He is suffering. He is not himself. He is alive but not living.
I want his pain to end. I want him to be free. And so I feel torn. Torn about what I should want, or what to hope and pray for (not that God is listening anyway). Torn about whether I should tell Mike it is ok for him to stop fighting, or beg him to hang on just a little longer. This internal struggle eats at me daily. I wish there were some easy answers, or a manual to deal with this crap.

Meanwhile, Mike’s mental state has deteriorated even more over the last week or so. He is very feisty (a la “angry drunk Mike”) and says the craziest things. He has developed a passion for using expletives, and most of what he says does not make sense at all were it not for the curse words attached to it. If anyone knows anything about the following let me know: “monkey and Tony in white wagon,” “Mr. W. going down to Mississippi,” “dollar bills for kid with backpack,” and “broken guy swimming in shark tank.” Despite his utter confusion and incoherence most of the time, Mike still manages to make me laugh daily. Making people laugh was always Mike’s specialty, his trademark. He is still good at it. He is still funny and charming, even in this state. Unfortunately, the funny things he says are all x-rated, and I don’t want to make anyone turn red, so I will refrain from sharing.

Thank you all for your support, friendship, and love. If I don’t email back or call, it is not because I don’t appreciate your thoughts or phone calls; I do. It is just that I am overwhelmed and tired. And plus, we all know that I also have a lazy side. To those of you who have been feeding our families, visiting to make us laugh, and just listening to me cry non-stop, know that I am eternally grateful. I love you all!

Please continue praying and sending Mike positive thoughts.

P.S. Over the last few months, I have realized that I am an awful blogger. It takes me weeks to do an update, and compared to other bloggers I know, I just suck! There are days when I get the urge to write, but then get busy with Mike, work, visitors, and everything else that goes on, and end up not having even with one free minute to write one sentence. And then there are days that even a gun to my head will not produce a meaningful entry. I will try to be better, but I have also resigned myself to the fact that I just can’t be good at everything!