Tuesday, July 3 marked exactly one month since M first had back pain. He hasn’t been sleeping well, he struggles to move on most days, and he shrieks in pain if one of our dogs jumps on him or he turns over the wrong way. M is a hard worker, he isn’t happy if he doesn’t do at least something productive each day, even on our rare, all day, Netflix binge watching days. In the summer, his favorite thing to do is to float the Comal River with friends. Two years ago, we crossed the Grand Canyon, south rim to north–24 miles, 5000 feet down, 3000 feet back up–in a single day. Last October, we one-upped ourselves and went south to north and back south again in less than 48 hours. We’re scheduled to do the same thing again at the end of September. Just over three weeks ago, I booked our first trip to New York City together. For Father’s Day, I bought him tickets to see the Yankees play the Texas Rangers while we’re in NYC. We have a trip planned with friends in mid-September to go to Mexico City for Mexican Independence Day.
My very best friend and favorite person can barely move. He’s exhausted all the time. He can’t do the things he loves to do and wants to do and looks forward to doing. And this is all before we even know what, exactly, is wrong.
Hope for the Best, Prepare for the Worst: Cancer and What Came Next 