I’m sitting in the sun room with only a curtain between Tim and myself. It has been a long day.
We were at the clinic with the radiation oncologists this morning and took a blow to the chin, and left feeling like Rocky Graziano in the 10th round with Chuck Davey.
The surgeons at UT, including the vascular team, deduced that Tim will not be a viable candidate for surgery, not now, not ever — due to the locally advanced nature of the tumor that is strangling both the superior mesenteric artery and superior mesenteric vein, both of which are connected to the aorta.
They have given us the option of starting a 5 week round of radiation therapy combined with a new chemo therapy. We start those next week as they are apparently the only chance we have at this point. Those treatments will be administered daily for 5 straight weeks except on weekends.
Dr. Tauer’s office called and scheduled a meeting with us in the morning. I have a feeling it is to have a very difficult conversation, one that we’ve been avoiding up until now, about
quality versus quantity. I could be wrong. I hope that I am wrong.
But, whether I’m right or wrong about tomorrow’s meeting, I’m amazed at Tim’s positive outlook. I still can’t catch my breath from the gut punch diagnosis, much less the blow to the chin with a very frustrating prognosis. . . . and yet, through the curtain, I hear him singing quietly under his breath, “many things about tomorrow, I don’t seem, to understand, but I know who holds tomorrow, and I know, who holds my hand.”
He blesses my heart in ways I can’t even begin to describe. His faith comes so easily to him. It causes me to envy him in that regard.
Please don’t think I’ve lost my faith. I haven’t. It just feels like I’m hanging on by a thread. Sort of like when you drop something valuable and it falls into a dark crevice and you strain with everything you’ve got to reach it and just can’t quite get your fingers on it. That’s the type of desperation that is smothering me right now.
Along the way, I’ve tried so very hard to cling to Psalm 91, “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most high shall abide under the shadow of the almighty.” I quote it over and over again. I’ve fallen asleep many nights quoting it over and over but still wake up feeling like I’m reaching out to feel Him, thinking surely he is close because I’m abiding in his shadow, just like he said. But no matter how hard I struggle to reach him or how high I jump to see if I can just feel him there, I come up empty handed.
Tim has since fallen asleep so I am about to shut down the computer and crawl up beside him, and remind myself that I believe the words of this song. I’m not sure I will be convinced but I’m certainly going to give it the old college try. I’m pretty good at winning arguments, unless, of course, I’m up against myself.
But, I’m going to really try hard because tonight, more than anything . . . . I really, really need to believe.