THE LULU CHRONICLES
Sorry, dears ones. I’ve been missing in action for the last couple of post dates. Currently, my days do not seem to be separated by any of the usual demarcations. It’s like I’m living one, very, very, very long day and have been for the last three months or so. Since Gary’s diagnosis of Stage Four Melanoma it seems to takes all of my energy just to keep myself from imploding. Oddly, I don’t mean that in a bad way, not totally. It’s kind of like Tony Stark in the Iron Man movies. Tonight, we went to see Iron Man 3, and not to give anything away, but there were a lot of explosions in this movie. I’m not spoiling it for you am I? Surely you expect explosions from a main character that has a magnet implanted in his chest and nuclear power that shoots out from the palm of his hands and the bottoms of his feet, right? Well, in the chaos of fighting evil villains, it’s all Tony Stark (the Iron Man) can do to keep himself from exploding. I’m mean like parts literally falling off, screws coming loose and limbs falling into the ocean. By expelling all of his energy on self-discipline and distraction, our superhero manages to get through his day in one piece.
That’s what I feel like. If I didn’t keep it together by resolve and distraction I’m afraid some of my parts just might break off and disappear into oblivion. So, I concentrate mightily on getting out of bed, changing the toilet paper roll, and bathing the dog as if my life depended on it. Once those chores are done, I allow myself to briefly look up and low and behold it’s no longer Monday. How did that happen? Actually, I don’t really care because I’m still in one piece.
I’m not sure I’m making any sense to you. I’m trying my best to chronicle what it’s like to be living with the constant threat of losing the love of your life. And, it’s hard. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Why do I feel compelled to do this? The only answer I can come up with is that it’s who I am. My whole adult life I’ve felt like I’ve been ‘called’ to something; called to something bigger than me. Gary and I have both laid our lives out there and allowed anyone who needed us to take a look, borrow a piece or stand next to us for comfort if the need arises. We are nothing if not approachable and open, and if by some chance our openness helps someone, then God be the Glory.
I wished I could do it better. Actually, I wished I didn’t have to do it at all. I’m not a willing participant on this newest journey. I watch my brave, ailing Hubs struggle to get out of his recliner and I want to kick something (watch it Murphy). I want to run around the house tearing up bits of paper and grounding them into the carpet. I want to plug up the drains and turn on all the faucets. I want to take those big clippers hanging out in the barn and start chopping off perfectly healthy tree limbs and mailbox posts. However, I don’t do any of those things. I simply concentrate really hard so I can pull the covers off in the mornings. By doing so, I forget what day it is. But, what I’m really doing by concentrating so hard is surviving.
Maybe tomorrow I’ll find some bliss in all of this. But not today. Today, we drove back to Mayo Clinic. Today, I was able to dress myself without losing a limb. Today… that was good enough.