Wednesday, October 23, 2013

For Robyn.

I asked the technician at Dana Farber if I could sip my contrast + crystal light in a little room separated from the rest of my unfortunate sippers. I didn't want them to see me fall apart while waiting for their own bad, good or stable news. Already emotionally charged as I waited for what would ultimately be good news about my own scans, I called Lauren. "She's gone" I whispered over the phone. We both sobbed, inconsolably for a length of time that doesn't have a unit of measure. Lauren was right there with Linda and me when we decided that we needed to save Robyn's life. So many people decided that we needed to save Robyn, that there really could be no alternative. It was going to be a beautiful story about how we all joined forces, doctors, families, friends, strangers, the entire world of science and a whole lot of hope, to create a bonafide miracle in order to save her. And we tried... so hard... all of us. And she tried even harder. Lauren and I wept together as we tried to process the magnitude of this loss, only to come to the conclusion that it's horrific. The end. Linda should have been here. The End. Robyn should have never been sick. THE END. In the words of her favorite doctor, "Let her rest. Such a brave girl. She is now safe with her mom. Away from this battle. Let her rest."

Sunday, October 20, 2013

Not Jaded at all

Last night I watched the Red Sox take the ALCS title away from the Tigers. Two things stood out as significant to me while watching. The first was how many times the announcers could query whether or not Pedroia's foul ball was reallllly to the left of the post and the second was the camera shot to the crowd of thousands of nail biting fans waiting to hear the ruling. It is really the latter that struck a cord with me. Countless people were caught up in the moment, sharing a collective anxiety, every heart in every human watching that game live or from the myriad of beer stained couches throughout the land was racing in unison as the referee's reviewed the shadow that the ball cast as it slipped away from a home run. 216 stitches flying through the air hit by a boy in tights. Humans desperate for the ball to shift by a couple inches. Despair as it sinks in that it was indeed foul, it wasn't an optical illusion, the ball really did cast a shadow to the left of the post. But the game went on and "we" eventually won the title. Hurrah, success, we should pat ourselves on the back. Today we all smile, we won! How comfy to be part of a collective, to know that we are uniformly striving for the same outcome, that together we will spend millions on tickets, beer, pizza and wings as we make our way to the World Series! Good job human's, it's nice to know that there can be a singular focus to galvanize us toward a victory of sorts....

Sunday, October 6, 2013

In the Nick of Time

I can usually keep it together pretty well. I am surrounded by pain and suffering and death everyday of my life, and the span of emotions that I encounter stretch my heart until it's almost flat. I've never lost my sense of humor, I cry when I want, I laugh when I want, but I'm usually in control of myself. But then Jen came in to our lives followed by Nick and ever since, my perspective on life has needed some readjustments. I've had to make room for emotions that are only on the good side of the spectrum, and as great as that sounds, it's not easy! What's so hard you might ask? Not turning into a fumbling little cry baby every time Nick lights up with a smile that starts inside of one ear and cuts right across to the other one. Seriously, his entire face is replaced by pure happiness. I also find it hard to reign in the tears when his mom starts screaming with glee as she sees them nearing the finish line. Every time she sees her son filled with so much joy, she feels it twice as deeply as he does, so you can paint the image of how big her smile is all by yourself with no help from me. Another stumbling point is watching my little girls fall in love with this experience. They get it, and I love them for that. My airborne army ranger gets misty eyed when he talks about running with Nick. Me, choking back the tears throughout it all. The span of emotions is so off kilter relative to the rest of my life, it's so infinitesimally small and condensed that it rips the tethers right off the moorings that have been steadfast in quartering me for the past three years. So there it is, possibly the hardest thing I've faced yet, happiness. I guess there's really no shame if I fail and give in to the tears, just make sure you carry some industrial strength tissues if you ever come watch them race with us!