A Hope Deferred

This morning I was high. Higher than I have ever been, especially on an emotion as fickle as hope.  I usually stick to casual optimism, a well-guarded heart, etc, etc. In my experience, hope leads to disappointment.  This morning, though, I couldn't reign my optimism in.

I started the day off knowing that my sister would get the results of her latest scan around noon. If three rounds of chemo and six weeks of radiation did what they were supposed to do she would be well on her way to remission. If not, three weeks at the Mayo Clinic in Arizona, with me tagging along as her caregiver, surely would do the trick. 

I couldn't control the hope that was filling my soul today. The buoyancy of it made me giddy, and I am not one to ever "do" giddy. I could barely sit still, I talked to a couple co-workers about the news expected, I swear I was having hot flashes even.  I tried to resist it, I fought it as best I could, all morning. I checked out the updates on a few bloggers who have recently endured hard times: all of them had at least semi-positive news.  I reminded myself numerous times of the tragic nature of hope. I pictured myself floating atop a geyser powered by this optimism and the outcome when the well ran dry, so not pretty. But still, my hope lifted me up.

It wasn't long after noon that I started to feel deflated. Between the lack of news, the sentimental songs on the radio, and the typical come-down effect of such an overwhelming amount of emotion, I began to realize I had been right all along.  Gina wouldn't return my texts. She wouldn't answer the phone.  To be fair to her though, I tried not to be aggressive and only called twice and texted only a couple times.  In a last ditch effort, I drove to her work at six, still hoping for good news.  And she wasn't there, but my mom was, and she had a little bit of info. And around 8, my sister was finally ready to give up a little bit of info as well.

The tumors in Gina's lungs have pretty much disappeared. Unfortunately, the cancer has spread to the lymph nodes in her abdomen.  Instead of the more extensive, fairly invasive, treatment at Mayo which would have destroyed the cancerous tissue in her lungs, she will soon begin a fourth round of chemo, more intense this time, as well as radiation to both her chest and her abdomen.  But she is expected to be in remission by April.  

A mix of good and bad news. 

There is still reason to hope.  

There is still a need for a guarded heart.

Reaction Haiku

A diagnosis-

Fear, frustration, heartache. But...

Never acceptance.

She's making new friends,

Fending off her depression;

For me: jealousy.

Internalizing:

Countless feelings tucked away,

My heart, a black hole.

But wait! The Mayo?

Experimental treatment?

Sparking a glimmer.

This week's theme for Sensational Haiku Wednesday is "Reaction".

The range of reactions I have felt, even as an outsider, surprises me at times. I can't imagine what my sister is feeling; I think she, too, internalizes. But, I'm sure if I were to take what I feel and amplify it quite a bit, I'd probably only have a small fraction of an idea. 

If Gina is accepted into the Mayo Clinic's treatment program, I will post more details on it. I'll probably still blog about it if she isn't accepted, but with fewer details and more whines.





PS--I quadruple checked my syllable count, but if I'm still off please let me know!!

It's gonna get whiny 'round here...

Remember when I whined and cried for a month over my moving predicament? Yea, well, that was nothing. 

This is going to be a short post. I have written half a dozen posts and none of them seem right. I feel like I have another elephant in the room, so this post is to clear the air and in the weeks and months to follow I'll elaborate, and whine and cry and yell and rage and if you choose to stick around great. If not, I'm sorry.

My sister has Small Cell Lung Cancer.

She doesn't smoke, not that it matters in my opinion, but that's another post.

She has four small children, one of whom is battling her own neuro-degenerative disorder.

She found out two weeks ago that it has spread from one lung to the other, in spite of the two rounds of chemo and month of near-daily radiation. It is no longer classified as non-aggressive; it is now classified as moderate-aggressive.

I am so angry and sad and scared and everything in between. I don't know what to do with my thoughts or feelings--I feel like I can't talk to anyone-I'm already over the "have faith" garbage that I once spewed myself to people in similar situations. I can hardly type out these few sentences without tearing up, but I am hoping I can use this blog to get my feelings out and keep them from spilling over into my QT with my sister.

I'm going to try and keep every single post from being about this, and I'm going to try and write more frequently. But for now this is all I have. Good night.