I haven't written much over the past few weeks because I just don't have a lot to say, and one of my rules for this blog is that I'm not allowed to make up stuff. The waiting for results has been grueling. Given our reality, I think we've been okay, but it's taken all my emotional energy. There's nothing left for this space.
Chris is recovering well from surgery. PT is a full time job, and he's doing it faithfully and making a lot of progress. He moved from the walker to crutches last week. He's been able to go out to eat and to the movies. His beard has grown back. I'm emotionally attached to it. It makes me feel like all is well in the world.
The pathology results are ready. We have an appointment with the oncologist this afternoon. This is the part where we find out what to expect over the next few years... sort of. He'll start chemo again next week. So, the next emotional battle begins this afternoon and the physical battle next week.
There's a big Houston storm brewing outside with torrential rain, high winds and hail. When I saw the overcast sky this morning, I thought, "Perfect. The sun would be obnoxious today." Then we started driving home from PT in the downpour. You should know that Chris has, err, doubts about my driving abilities. In normal life circumstances, I rarely drive us and never in his car. His car is more comfortable for him to ride in with the bum leg than mine. This means we've spent the last few weeks with... new marital conflict.
Chris: You don't need to talk right now. Just focus on staying in your lane.
Summer: (more sarcasm and inappropriate humor than emotional sorrow and angst) I'm not like you. It helps me to talk. Plus I don't care about staying in my lane. I just care about being loved and adored... Oh my gosh. This is actually my nightmare scenario. I'm driving you in your car in a terrible storm on a day when we're going to find out how likely it is that you'll survive the next few years. This is like a horror film.
Chris: (matter of fact) It's a good scene for your book.
So, when I drive Chris in his car on a normal sunshiny day, he can't resist instructing me about squaring off my turns. (Side note: I can't fully express how much I don't care about squaring off turns. I think Chris and my dad are the only two human beings in the world who invest any emotional energy in them.). He gasps and grits his teeth. It's obnoxious. But in truly dangerous driving conditions, he knew I couldn't handle his driving rules, as reasonable as he thinks they are. He started singing me songs from Moulin Rouge. Because he's awesome.