You’re the hubs

Went to the hospital for the sixth time. She spent her birthday alone in an operating room. This thing takes everything from us.

One bite at a time

There’s an old joke that goes:

Q: How do you eat an elephant?
A: One bite at a time.

Think that if I went back in time and saw all that she would have to go through, I woulda crumbled on the spot.

And yet, the dull drip of constant crises in our lives is almost routine now.

Last week was her first Mother’s Day and as well as her birthday.

She spent her birthday by her lonesome getting cut open yet again as we went to the emergency room for the sixth time.

That issue she had in April roared back in a spectacular way – blame myself for trying to keep her from staying yet another spell in the hospital. Perhaps if we just did it then, we wouldn’t be here now.

Wonder if I’m making any good/rational decisions at all. Constantly second guessing myself. There are moments where I wonder if I’ll make it with my sanity – or her’s – intact.

Me: Do you know who I am? Do you know where we are?
Her: (shakes head)

But what else is there to do but go on? And she does, somehow. A bite at a time.

Like I said, there are moments when I cannot believe we will do anything but crash.

But even in those darkest moments, when I sit by her bed and think all hope’s lost, she still manages to pick me up and make me think that we can get in front of this thing somehow. That we’ll make it.

Me: Do you know who I am? Do you know where we are?
Her: Yeah, you’re the hubs. (looking around) I can’t believe we’re here again.


Location: the hospital, yet again. No river to be seen.
Mood: crushed
Music: I think I’m ruined. Didn’t anybody, didn’t anybody tell you?

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14 replies on “You’re the hubs”

I imagine you’ve heard from many people about the “60 Minutes” story last night on Duke University’s glioblastoma research. If not, and when you have time, check it out. It sounds so promising. Perhaps it could offer your wife and you some real hope for the future. Your posts are heartbreaking, and beautiful. I’m sorry you’ve both had to prove, through this unexpected and terrifying change in your lives, that you are brave, strong, and steadfast. But that’s what you’ve proved. Don’t give up unless and until you absolutely have to.

Unfortunately, we’re not candidates for that therapy. So the search, at least for us, has to continue elsewhere.

sorry to hear about all this and sending you and your family very, very positive thoughts.

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