Thursday, October 4, 2018

Full

Jenny here.

It’s been awhile since I sat at my desk and cried about Wil.  Yet, here I am today, doing just that, for the overwhelming culmination of events…although it’s been quite some time, I still get caught up in emotions some days more than others.  My work cube seems to be the place to cry.

Today we are in the midst of packing for a little weekend trip to Tulsa to meet up with some family, and I am so excited for it.  Emotions are already high for me because of it and I cannot wait to spend some quality time with sisters and nieces/nephew.  This has been a year of leaning into not having our own kids, through adopting another dog, and cherishing the time with extended family, especially the little ones, in lieu of our own best laid pre-cancer plans.  It’s been good though.  Wil is tutoring a niece, taking nephews to movies, teaching another niece to drive, helping his mom out.  These are the sweetest moments for him.  He’s exhausted by the time he gets home on those days, but filled to the brim with something no words can capture.  Something better seen and felt…but it’s there and he’s full.  There’s never a pain free day for him, but he’s killing it at school and with family time.

You see, it’s Day +1456.  And it’s probably been a week since I looked at the day count.  It’s always running in the back of my mind, but not in the forefront anymore.  I’m wearing lipstick these days.  I quit Diet Coke. I’m breathing.  Stretching.  These are the things that don’t make the most dramatic of blog entries.  These are the bricks of rebuilding a person though.  One by one.

Side note:  And this might be TMI, so fast forward if you’d like.  There was a time, more than 1,456 days ago, that I was so in the throes of cancer treatment with him that I had damaged my toe and not even realized it (the pain OR the fact that the nail had turned black) until the nail fell off.  Yes, so unaware, so numb emotionally AND physically, that I was that out of sync with my own pain.  I had plenty of pain, but my pain was all focused on the task at hand…either helping him survive, or prepping to grieve him if he didn’t.  Through this duality, nothing else mattered or was even noticed.  To ask someone to take care of themselves during a time like that is the most common phrase you hear as a caregiver.  It’s a good idea.  But how do you take care of yourself when you can’t even locate your own pain or be present with your own body?  I am still working on this area.  I am still trying to be more in my own body these days.

Next week Tuesday, October 9, 2018, Day +1461, Wil will celebrate his 4th anniversary of the second stem cell transplant.  While we won’t meet with his oncology team for this year’s testing results until the next week, we will still raise a glass to the day, eat some shrimp, take a nap, and breathe in this milestone (and I promise to update you all on the results).

But y ’all.  It’s also likely the first day of work for Wil in over 5 years.  Now, he has been assisting me with projects at my private projects along the way (maintaining the networking and website), but I am talking, PAID, not family business work.  This week Wil accepted a part-time position with the community college computer lab where he will assist students.  It’s the perfect thing.  No benefits, so he can stay on my sweet health insurance through my work, and not full-time, so he can continue classes.  And a first job related to his new field.  Finally, something to start filling that resume, plus some extra bucks to attack that credit card used during treatment. 

This brings me back to now.  Sitting in my cube, tears in eyes.  The mascara might take a hit tonight as I let the intersection of events next week soak in, but the lipstick?  Fully on, as a symbol of much more, as we step into the next chapter of our Life 2.0.

Much Love.

1 comment:

  1. So extremely happy to read this post and to see the next chapters unfold! Congratulations to Wil on the new job! That is so awesome and they will be blessed to have him in the lab.

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