30 or 12,000?
Me: What’s wrong?
Her: I had a dream, I think, that I had a seizure. Or it really happened. I don’t know. I don’t know what’s real.
Me: Your mind is playing tricks on you.
We live our lives through stories. My hope is that some of my stories stay with you, in some way.
When I was a kid, read about the Mutiny on the Bounty and a portion of that story stayed with me. After Fletcher Christian took over the ship, he tossed Captain Bligh into a small boat. Christian assumed that Bligh would head straight to an island called Tofua, about 30 miles away and, to this end, gave them all five days worth of supplies.
But Bligh had a pretty audacious plan.
He was going to travel 4,000 miles – that’s the 500 miles more than the distance from New York City to London – in an open boat with five days worth of food and water.
Blight and his men were going to make it home or die trying.
So from April 28, 1789 they sailed in open ocean waters, each eating an ounce of food and half-a-cup of water a day. 47 days later, on June 14, 1789, they made it to safe to shore.
It wasn’t until March 14, 1790 that Bligh made it home to England. All told, they traveled 12,000 miles by ship.
With a glioblastoma, the most you can hope for is a few months.
I don’t tell you everything that goes on. Some of it is too horrifying to repeat. Like in this entry, didn’t mention that the doc said something I’ll never forget:
Glioblastomas are aggressive cancers. And her particular glioblastoma is on the aggressive side of aggressive. (pause) If you want to make her comfortable, I’ll do everything I can to help.
As soon as I heard him say that, immediately thought of Bligh. The doc was saying she could only make it the 30 miles to Tofua.
And my next thought was, “F___ that. We’re going home.”
That’s when I decided to start looking for another hospital. Because I didn’t want that kind of help. I didn’t want her comfortable. I wanted her in the fight.
Home is 12,000 miles away. And we have to endure tsunamis and tidal waves to make it there. Yet, we have no choice but to try to make it home.
Even if I have to swim with one arm around her and one arm paddling, I’ll get her home, somehow. It’s my job
And two days ago, we got a lifeline in the form of some hope. But that’s a story for next week. For now, we keep searching for familiar shorelines.
Her: I kept telling myself, “When Logan gets home, it’ll be ok. When Logan gets home, it’ll be ok.”
Me: Well, I’m home. We both are. And it’ll be ok.
Should mention that her first doc did an amazing job getting her to where she is now. For that, I’ll always be grateful.
But now things are different. We need someone who is believes she can make it safe to familiar shores.
Location: two days ago, the hopsital again
Mood: hopeful again
Music: though the truth may vary, this ship will carry our bodies safe to shore
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