Bleak HouseI've just returned from a few days away at a conference, and the house is dark, silent, and empty. My husband and daughter have been staying with family while I have been away and I got in too late for them to come back tonight.
There are new and ever more frightening complications on the horizon; severe liver problems that are scary enough in themselves, but even worse since they appear to rule out any more chemotherapy, and our available alternatives are fewer and fewer. I have the awful feeling that the doctors are just waiting for the next opportunity to tell us there's "nothing more they can do"--and I suddenly realize how much of my strength in this ordeal is denial, pure and simple. Most days, I can forget there's this likely impending tragedy, and that life has dealt us this awful, awful blow. I'm afraid I'm not going to have that luxury--of forgetting for a few hours that things are this bad--for much longer. I want to hope, but can't find many numbers or plans to hang that hope upon.
For now, more tests, more drugs, and more pain.