It wasn’t until I became a parent that I realized it was out there and that it would one day try and kick the crap out of me.
So Dr. Ney walks into the exam room on Wednesday, the 19th of March, greets us wonderfully as he always does, and says, “The scan looks great! Its clean!”
And, its comical actually, when I indulge my imagination and picture these four harmless girls, just wanting to be with me, standing up to my army, looking upon it, kinda freaked out probably, unarmed, all the while assuring it of their good intentions and how they come in peace.
Well, this here, is the story of how these girls somehow reasoned with my army and brought me out…
I even thought for a moment about all the stories I wrote last spring about our brain tumor adventures. You know, the adventure-filled tales staring Chris as the Amazing and me as his trusty sidekick! I’ve left so many of those stories unfinished that i’d really like to tell, but the possibility of another chapter with yet another adventure before us overwhelms me and makes my mind struggle to know where to pick up or leave off or even what to prepare for.
I returned to the darkness of Chris’s ICU room, the weight of the world that I felt the previous evening right after surgery set back on my shoulders. Denial was creeping forth from every part of my being. I couldn’t accept that Chris wasn’t yet the same man.
One of many prayers I prayed during both brain surgery experiences was that my husband would come out of it the same man he was going in. God did answer this prayer both times, but the second time around, He made me lean on Him a little longer before His reveal. You see, I couldn’t find my husband within himself for about the first 48 hours after surgery.
I’m sure you know how it works, too. You’ve been somewhere or experienced a certain thing, it gets stored in your memory vault and if you ever go back to it and do it again, you have a visual in your mind of what it looks like, smells like, feels like. Its a comfort of familiarity that allows you to enter back in with a greater sense of ease.
As my feathers were mightily ruffled on a daily basis, his maintained a lovely order and shine about them. All.the.time. And, to be honest, one of the biggest sources of my feather ruffling was the simple fact that his weren’t.
Chris paced between the living room and kitchen, reacting to the words being spoken to him on the other end of his cell phone line. The quiet tone of his voice fed my fears, adding to my nervous anticipation of what I hoped and prayed wouldn’t be true. And then, as if on cue, he mouthed to me the words, “I need surgery again.”
We had less than 10 appointments left when I had a sort of out-of-my-body, coming-to-Jesus moment while sitting in the radiation center waiting room.