Personal Journal

Untitled Nov. 10

Today is the first day that I have looked around and missed Jean. My routine around the house hasn't been such that I think I noticed, and, I kept saying that Jean would be home today. She's not. They wanted her to stay another night so they could give her a new chemo and observe her. And when I left tonight, they still hadn't gotten the chemo in the hospital yet (brain cancer chemo drugs are apparently quite unique in delivery compared to other parts of the body, and are thus rather rarer).
So she's not going to be home tonight and maybe not tomorrow either. I would guess not. That's easier on me than it is her, I guess. This always has been, even though I get a lot of compliments for some reason. I find that curious.
Jean is on a massive dose of steroid, I guess. And I know that there are some effects of the steroid that mimic the bad tumor episodes. But I think I see Jean being a little worse today. This time, as compared to September's seizure and October's overnight hospitalization, Jean isn't bouncing back as fast or as high (yet). She's still unsteady on her feet. Her language skill is just a little bit off.
When you grow up around your own child, you don't notice 4 inches of growth until just one day, you find a comparison and remember then and now.
I check the voice mail messages now. I'm loathe to do that when Jean is around. I've done it about 6 times since we got this phone more than 18 months ago. And Jean recorded the prompts, 18 months ago, prior to cancer.
And I noticed those 4 inches of "growth" tonight. And it scares me.
I KNEW this day was coming when they told me the statistics in February. Ninety-five percent of these cancer patients die within 3 years, the majority of those in about 1 year. Fewer than one percent live or more years. Science is my "go-to" faith. Where it's gaps lie is where my theological inquiries begin, and I simply enjoy those, whereas the scientific I accept as faith.
I never shared it. Not even here. I haven't journaled much. Metacognitively, I knew I was functionally using denial.
I knew it would come, and it's not easy to accept anymore. That's not the right phrasing. I accept it. I just realize it's going to be hard to cope with. Sometimes I feel guilty for my acceptance, because I see others are not accepting (Jean, understandably, and her Mother and Brother in New Jersey, and I never told anyone to think differently).
I can see it tonight. Jean thinks the new chemo will have sufficient results that she'll buy herself more time. Much more. And effectiveness. Her brother "knows she's going to get better".
Jean's mom comes in Friday, on the bereavement fare. I told her mother, Minnie, that the doctor wants her to come out because he doesn't know what's going to happen in the next three or four weeks timeframe. He doesn't know. It could end in that time. It could get bad in that time so that we hope we are near the end. Or she could pull back some if they're current model is more grim than it ought to be (the place where the hope does reside).
I wonder if I need to tell Minnie, "This could be the last time you get to spend her while she's conscious." Is that alarmist? I should certainly wait until we get the results from Monday's MRI.
I know my sense of impending devastation resides there, hoping that some lesser likely but better prognosis position will reveal itself.
I am scared again. I need to talk to Jean about that too. Is she scared. Because she hasn't said so yet, and if she's thinking clearly, at times, she certainly must be scared - more scared than I can currently imagine.
I miss her.