The doctor told us Alison's cancer had essentially held fast. This time there was no side note, like previous ones with words like 'multiple,' pronounced,' and 'differentiated.' The cancer hasn't shrunk or grown. So why weren't we high-fiving? We certainly should have been. It's the best news yet. But somehow with her feeling good, I think in our hearts we were wanting more.
Our hearts are never reasonable.
We don't know for how long the chemotherapy will work. We are going to continue dripping toxicity into her veins, and hoping. Cancer is a terrible thing. It brings everyone to our knees. It makes us consider the leases that we have on our lives, and stare plainly at their language. But once we make peace with it, we're free to live. We're free to laugh and enjoy our lives. And I feel better for it; I appreciate every giggle Alison commits, and every moment I share with her. I'm most thankful for her quality of life right now. She's enjoying herself.
Our friends and family have been amazing along the way. I see many more families at the doctor's office than I thought there would be. And more and more my singular wish for them is that they would know similar support, and be comforted.
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