After her operation, my mom healed well, and was advised to undergo three more rounds of chemo, as is the prescribed treatment post-surgery. As a those of you unfortunate enough to be familiar with the disease, the cumulative effects of the chemo means that each round made her feel progressively weaker. But she was a trooper, and seemed to be recovering some strength.
In March, our 1-year sublet was coming to an end, and we needed to find a new place to live. We were apprehensive about living separately, but decided to plan for good things to happen. We’ve been holding onto so much tension for the past year, it felt good to be optimistic. I mean, fuck death. Really. Let’s plan for life.
Chris took a new job at the end of March. And then I got a new job that started at the end of April. Chris and I found a place close to Gabriel’s school, my mom found a place in her old neighbourood, which she’s always loved. And then two weeks before our moves, her ascites returned.
I wasn’t sure how we were all going to balance all the changes, but somehow we have. I am not sure what is going to happen when we stop having to spin all the plates, but you’ll know by my silence, I guess. I don’t want the plates to stop spinning. This chaos, I can handle. I think.
My sister Lisa has come to stay, and she’s picking up all my slack as I set up a new home and job. Taking mom to appointments for paracentesis and for rounds of the new, experimental drug/chemo combo, helping her out with meals. I am thankful for family.
Last year I cried so easily. This year, my new method is to compartmentalize emotion, not to try to hold it all in a big, quivering bouquet. I think I thought it was more honest to feel everything at once. I was wrong. I am trying to be present wherever I am. To love my job. My amazing family. My amazing mom.