Image by califmom via Flickr
I have my husband home.
His eldest sister is taking her husband off life support today.
These scales never seem to balance, do they? We get to the middle of the see-saw and think we’re level, then that mean kid who wrecks everyone’s stuff jumps on the other end and we’re running to the opposite end again.
Yet, every single time I think I’ve been loaded down to my breaking point, it’s the deeds of humanity, the acts of compassion from strangers, friends, family—these are the things that bring me back.
Meals dropped at our door. Rides home from the airport in the middle of the night. Friends putting their own Christmas on hold, driving 8 hours just to make sure my kids can be in their own home on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.
It’s a group of people who know me only online, banding together one night after I’d reached my limit, had a first-world breakdown of sorts, and collecting money to replace my shattered iPhone—the only means of communication I have when I’m at doctors’ appointments, chemo, and hospitals. They didn’t have to do it. I didn’t ask them to do it. They’re just amazing friends who wanted to make my life a little easier right now. When we finally got Bob home, before we opened gifts, this story of generosity and selfless giving was the story I told my kids, our new story of Christmas.
Bob’s biopsy results have come back. His lymphoma type remains the same—diffuse large b-cell lymphoma (DLBCL). Good news. It is, however, extremely aggressive--the bad news we already new. He’ll be getting daily Neupogen shots this week, just like he’d normally do post-chemo. Wednesday we go to Stanford for his consultation at the Blood and Marrow Transplant Program. We’ll know more then about the timeframe and type of transplant he’ll be having. Hopefully, he’ll still be able to have an autologous transplant.