One week and so many new words: mediastinoscopy, adjuvant chemotherapy, hilum, labulated, adenocarcinoma. The language of disease feels foreign in my mouth, the metaphors strange, the translations insufficient. I wonder if a new voice will begin to emerge.
One week and new places: the University of Chicago, the back room of a radiation lab, a pulmonary procedures waiting room.
One week and 1200 miles of driving and more to come. The days are blending together underneath the low and gray midwestern skies. I feel without revelation, without air, without lightness. But a lingering bit of hopefulness remains on the edges of my mind, on the edges of the horizon.
3 comments:
argh. I'm thinking of you. xoxo.
a - i look forward to seeing you & m. i learned so much from sam's dad when he was sick, especially that every moment - the good and the bad - is a blessing. it was a new way for me to look at things, and a good way to let the light in. love to you!
Can't stop thinking of you all - I hope you feel my big hugs. Call when you're ready, I'll be here.
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