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personal

She’s still in the game

Still in the fight

Chad Hernandez
Whenever I’m gone from this blog for a while these days, you can assume it’s because something crazy is happening and I’m too busy to update. This past week was no exception.

We had to go to the hospital on Sunday – which happened to be my birthday – yet again, for both an MRI as well as a new issue that cropped up. After a good deal of negotiations back-and-forth, I managed to avoid our being admitted to the ER for a sixth time. We ended up making it home at 8PM that night.

But then we had some good(ish) news. Her MRI reading came back late – really late – the following day. No new growth. So, while that’s not the outstanding news of shrinkage, it’s far, far better than growth. And what’s more, this is no growth while she’s essentially not had any treatment since January 25th.

Perhaps the best thing is that the old Alison has been making more and more appearances at home. She smiles at the baby and at us, watches TV from time-to-time, and engages us in normal conversation.

Her: (looking at baby) There’s my sweet boy.
Me: He’s getting big – he wears 6-9 month old outfits at 5 months. All he wants to do is eat.
Her: (laughing) Well, he is your son.

It’s the most hopeful we’ve been in a while.

Because of all the turmoil, I’ve not been to the gym but I still regularly speak to my coach there. He was one of the first people I mentioned this to because of all the fundraising he and the gym has done. And because he’s a source of great comfort for me.

Me: Finally, some good news. It’s not great news but it’s definitely not bad/horrific news. We were certain that, after three months of her being in and out of the hospital, it would be bad. Even her doc prepped us for that.
Him: I’m so happy for you. Still in the game with a fighting chance. That’s all you need.

She’s still in the game. We’re still in the fight.


\’

Location: on a sunny street in Manhattan
Mood: cautiously hopeful
Music: If you can hold on, hold on

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personal

My So-Called Thermonuclear Life

The other destructive elements of my life

World War II bomber in NYC
When the first atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, over 129,000 people were killed in moments.

I’ve met lots of people throughout the years that think that the technology of mass destruction stopped in 1945; that when we talk of nuclear weapons, we’re talking about the types of weapons that we used in World War II – 70 years ago. Unfortunately, that’s so terrifyingly far from the truth that it’s laughable. The bombs that killed those 129,000 people are now just tiny cogs in current thermonuclear weapons.

In fact, current thermonuclear bombs use the atomic bomb technology as just a trigger. See that image there where it says “fission bomb?” That’s an atomic bomb within a thermonuclear bomb.

Thermonuclear bomb

Think of a flintlock pistol; the atomic bomb would be equal to that tiny spark that the flint makes versus the bullet.

The situation with Alison is a thermonuclear bomb in my life. Yet I have two other things that are happening in my life that, individually, would be atomic bombs.

Each one of these three things has changed the course of my life forever. Each of these things would take up the entirety of this blog if not for Alison’s situation.

The thing is, this blog has always been my story. Always tried to respect the wishes of people that didn’t want to be part of it. So I can’t tell you the other two stories that take up the other 2/3s of my time, energy, and emotion.

You probably wouldn’t believe me if I told you anyway. Because I’m not sure I believe it.

And I just received some soul-destroying atomic news about one of the other stories this week.

Me: Did it…did it go well?
Her: (long pause) No. The doctor said there was nothing he could do.
Me: So what now?
Her: We wait. (sighing) And hope.
Me: That’s all I do these days.
Her: Don’t break. Your son needs you.
Me: He’s the only reason I don’t break.

Boom.

\’

Location: a very dark place
Mood: destroyed
Music: life is hard. It’s misery from the start. It’s dull and slow and painful.

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I’ve missed you so much

Your American Boy

It’s been five months since we started on this nightmare. It honestly doesn’t feel that long. The constant string of emergencies and sleepless nights make it just seem like one long, hellish, week.

Think one of the worst parts of it all is that the woman I knew has left. In her place is someone that I love no differently, but isn’t the woman I once knew.

This woman is always tired, scared, and confused. Perhaps worst of all, she’s silent. She can speak, she just doesn’t, choosing instead to stare out into the world but not take part in it.

It’s lonely when we’re together.

For those of you that have read this blog for a while, this is a far cry from the clever and confident woman I once knew.

Actually, what I just wrote – that I love her no differently – isn’t quite true. In some ways I love this version of her even more.

Because I feel I need to take care of her, something I never felt before when it came to the woman she once was.

Said many times that we value things that are rare. Once in a very rare while, the old Alison will come back and visit us, if only for a fleeting moment. That too makes me love her all that much more.

A song came on one day when I was giving her lunch. It was American Boy by Estelle, a song I referenced years ago before I met her.

Despite the fact that I have no singing voice, at all, to speak of, I sang a bit of it as I stood up to clear off the table.

Take me on a trip, I’d like to go some day
Take me to New York, I’d love to see LA
I really want to come kick it with you

And then I heard a familiar voice I’d not heard in a while sing:

You’ll be my American boy…

Me: (turning around quickly) Alison? Alison? Do remember this song?!
Her: (nods, turns away)
Me: (quietly) We’ve missed you so much.
Her: …
Me: Ah. (trailing) Yes. I’ll be your American boy…

\’

Location: nowhere
Mood: broken
Music: Could you be my love, my love?

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