March 10, 2017
3 chemos, failed. Now trial ended. Yesterday 3pm was the call. Failed. (a poem)
Next, she is getting a port inserted into her chest.
The Dr. had a hard time telling her yesterday there's not much more they can do.
Lots of tears here. (Two days, and there will be more.)
I had high hopes for the trial drug study,
but her tumors showed no shrinkage
and "...this is advanced ovarian cancer,” she said
with her own sweet voice for the first time yesterday.
We have called it The Battle.
We have
only recently started using the word tumor. It's been increasingly hard to say chemo, so
every time it comes up I just say, "Doctor appointment today?"
Only one time did I mention a wig, and that was not met with a welcome so I dropped it.
A desire for humor, for normalcy...some need to be useful in a world where I feel
useless in this.
Until yesterday we could pretend this was all something that was passing
always a date we are waiting for
another test result
another possibility for renewal, healing, hope...
yesterday, (after the doctor's call)
out of her own lips
she told me how down she is feeling. And
[for the very first time, like breaking
thespian rules, the break-a-leg superstition, the never-jinx-an-audition, a-bad-dress-
rehearsal-means-a-great-opening-night thinking, this whole time, both of us, if we don’t
say it,
it won’t be true]
she
said
the word
cancer.