I used to not know what to do with all the tears I've cried since Wil's diagnosis. Tears of every hue and feeling. But gallons nonetheless. Forgive the long intro to the medical updates today. I'm still working some of this out in my own head and heart. As I sort through, snapshots of summers past keep coming up.
One summer, Wil, who doesn't get his face wet in the shower, let alone swim, was swindled into going to Hurricane Harbor with me and a friend. After much persuasion. That first water slide down through a dark tube on a mat, and the scene that ensued at the bottom, I will never forget. Face splashed Wil, hit the water pooling at the end of the slide, hard. Flipped his mat.
What transpired, and how I responded in the next minute, was not my proudest wife moment.
Picture this. 2 feet of water. Teenage lifeguard. Big 6'4" man, wet face, crumpled scowl, floundering, legs kicking, arms paddling, absolutely sure he was drowning.
The teenage lifeguard was confused too.
"Sir, stand up. Stand up sir. I need you to stand up."
I had jumped out already, at first not knowing what was going on, and could only stop and stare and let out a small giggle. There he was "drowning" in water that probably came up to his knee if he stood. But people have drowned in less, but my big strong guy was flapping around like a trout. His fear was real, his data on the situation, in real time, just skewed.
Side note: he hates this story. I'm up early this morning to post before he wakes up!
Truth be told, although I consider myself a good enough swimmer, my favorite part of water is the ability to float. I love the freedom, picking up feet, eyes closed, your head back just far enough to cover your ears, the world outside becomes muffled, and your neck elongates. Coolness. Suspension. Support. Effortless. It's a physical feeling I wish Wil could experience too. Yet in my emotional world I often find myself floundering in "2 feet of water" when I could just as easily float or stand in a situation. But when you're in it, really in it, all that you feel is the struggle and fear sometimes.
Float: v. To rest or move on or near the surface of a liquid without sinking. To be buoyed up. To be buoyant.
The science is there though. Each us, physically (and let's add mentally and emotionally) have floatation features. It may not feel natural, but it's simple. Anything that is less dense than water can float. And our bodies, roughly speaking, are about 2/3 the density of water. Sure, muscle mass, lung capacity, overall composition...we could get technical and say floating is easier for some then others, just by what we are born with or how we change over our years...yet the message for me is straightforward...everyone is born with the ability to float, by design.
I looked up a beginners guide to floating. While there were tips on how to improve technique, the basics were this: Relax. Stretch. Have confidence that physics is on your side. Notice your breath. Breathe deeply. Oxygen makes you more buoyant. Look up. Hold your breath for a moment. Feel your weightlessness. Repeat.
People drown all the time. Even though our bodies are equipped for the opposite. You can't convince Wil he can float. Many have tried. And I SO get that now, get his fear, get why he hasn't floated. I may physically do well with it, but emotionally I struggle in the water of doubt sometimes too. Over and over again in this life, when my sense of everything is to tense up, stop breathing, and freak the hell out...it's because I have forgotten my innate abilities to be suspended in the moment.
Medically speaking, the week has involved moments of sheer weightlessness. On Tuesday Wil had his 9 month clinic visit. He's still B+, counts are almost all in the normal ranges. His oncologist is pleased. We don't go back for another month! We couldn't stop smiling. Each month, over the next 6 months, we are hoping to decrease his ProGraf dose on a path to being off it for good. We are on the home stretch to a first year, stem cell transplant, anniversary.
He is in such a happy mental state too these days. We've been quiet as we enjoy every drop of summer. He's running errands, driving around town, making me breakfast (and the bed!) while I'm in the shower. Handing me coffee to go on my way to work, paying the bills...this girl is already getting used to this! He has a FitBit now to keep him motivated to move (that neuropathy is still there). He's taking walks. We are having dates. Grateful for all of that.
And even more, his gentleness has increased tenfold. If there is a baby within 50 feet, he will find them and tell the parents how impossibly wonderful the child is...he says hello and wishes people well all throughout stores and clinic visits. It's like no one is a stranger these days.
Wil has always been sweet. Always loved wide and deep. The depths of his compassion and tenderness, however, have just...grown. Relationships and time mean more now. He's here waiting folks, if you've been distant for whatever reason, he's here. Waiting for you. Loving you from afar. And hoping. (And ready for FitBit cheers too!)
Yesterday Wil had a cystoscopy of his bladder and CT of his kidneys. For about a month he has had microscopic blood in his urine. The preliminary CT results showed nothing more than your common small cysts that anyone can develop. Not concerning at this point. Then came the cystoscopy (small camera catheter is inserted into urinary track to look at bladder). I was just in the middle of amazement at what I was seeing on the monitor (I like medical and science stuff)...and there it was. A single white flowery looking spot on the bladder wall.
Tumor.
Do you ever drive by a highway accident, and although you feel sad seeing the wreckage, think "wow, glad it wasn't me." That's how we feel a lot. We know others in our situation, with a first failure to graft, or even those with success, often get infections, complications, or other issues, and die. Wil is nothing short of a walking miracle. Truly. When those around us pass away, I feel it deeply. A whole lot. And I even get a little survivors guilt. What makes us any different, to have this extra time together? We aren't any more deserving. It's just what it is, I guess. And we live with the reality that, being no different or more deserving, life is short. Things can change suddenly. Take no day for granted. Hug those you love as often and as hard as you can.
I'm trying to stay in float mode, we both are, so we don't sink in disappointment. I'm trying to remember this news, this water, isn't as deep as what we've been in already. As I hold to all the good that is still in this fight. We are lighter than this pool of liquid. Lighter. And as a beautiful souled friend always says, we're not done yet.
Wil will need surgery to remove the tumor, most likely in the next few weeks. We are thankful his counts are great and that he's feeling well. They will determine after the biopsy what this tumor is or isn't. Of course we hope for the best and know anything is possible.
I used to not know what to do with all these tears. I used to be more fearful of being pulled under and drowning. I float on top of the sorrows, most days. Yesterday though, I felt my limbs get heavy. I felt the pull. I'm still someplace between tense and relaxed today. Of course I want this to be benign. To be another blip. What's in my control is not the tumor. A new opportunity to workion my buoyancy.
And so I hold to this: the water, in its own natural state, will always be there to support our given ability to float. If we let it. We are regular folks and will deal with whatever comes.
We invite you to float along with us. In this, or whatever else in your life, that is making you believe you can be pulled under.
I'll leave you with a few floating tips from the pros. The physics are on your side. You don't have to BE buoyant. You are already.
Much Love.
__________________
"Gently press your weight onto your shoulder blades and let your head relax into the water as if you are resting your head on a pillow. Or, if you are in streamline position facing the sky, press the top of your hands into the water. If your legs always sink, reach your hands above your head. By reaching your arms above your head, you are creating a longer support above your waist, which gives you more leverage for lifting your legs up to the surface. At the very least, it will bring your legs higher in water.
"Engage your abdominal muscles. Use your core strength to lift your lower body toward the surface. You might think about a string attached to your bellybutton that is pulling your torso to the top of the water. The link between your mind and your body is powerful. If you can simply imagine the string pulling your belly and your feet to the surface of the water, your muscles will probably organize themselves and make it happen! Kick very, very, very gently. Okay, so perhaps this is cheating a bit. Don’t kick so hard that you have forward momentum. But very light and gentle, alternating leg movements will help force them to the surface. Of course, as you do this, stay relaxed."
Read more at: http://www.swimoutlet.com/guides/how-to-float-for-swimming/
Read more at: http://www.swimoutlet.com/guides/how-to-float-for-swimming/
