She had a headache today. It was mild, and two tablets of Tylenol resolved it, but she had a headache today. Before A. got the diagnosis, she was plagued by headaches. Many severe and unrelenting. So is this the beginning? Is the tumor beginning its new march now that the assault of radiation has ceased?
You wonder how soon she will be taken from you. You kiss her goodnight, and as you pull away from her you keep your eyes on her. Could this be our last night together?
Soon afterward she’s sleeping and the gravity of everything comes swelling through your placid exterior. Your vision becomes blurred and the swelling continues to bubble, so you quickly leave the bed, then the room, and you find a distant corner in the home you share and you become unrestrained. Everything comes pouring out. Your heart rate accelerates and everything is coming at you and nothing is stopping it just keeps swelling and rising and you don’t know how you’ll make it to the next minute and then DONE. Everything settles. You grab a tissue, dab your eyes and blow your nose. You swallow a beta-blocker, take a deep breath in, then push everything out until your belly is clenched. I’m fine. I’m OK. And you crawl back into bed, cover yourself, and try not to be terrified about what comes next.