Whatever Just Happened

Tending to Endings (sixty-four)

As personal as some Tending to Endings posts have been, I have not aimed for it to be a series where I spool out what is going on in my life while it’s still raw. Those blogs are probably more true to the form. But when something big happens in my life, I tend to traverse huge expanses of thoughts, feelings, insights in ways that are disjointed. It’s hard to know where I’m going to land and what is just anxiety and grasping and noise. So generally, I begin in my journal or with close friends who know to not put too much stock in anything as I verbally wander and epiphanize through the early stages of whatever just happened. Instead I tend to see how events take shape and then write something more akin to a personal essay that I hope might also be useful to others. There was a time when I wanted to be a columnist—Mike Royko and Erma Bombeck were my favorites when I was a kid—and Tending to Endings has let me play at that a bit.

But, two weeks ago, while I was in Maui visiting my dad, John called from Idaho to let me know the MRI results showed the mass in his liver is cancer. I was already staring at my phone because he had promised to call as soon as he came out of the appointment. We knew it wouldn’t be great news since the doctor invited him into the office for the results. I expected more tests, or the cirrhosis is worse, or we need to do a biopsy. But, I learned that afternoon that liver cancer can be diagnosed from an MRI. John’s voice over the phone was relaxed. He was as surprised as I was. All this had started with a wellness exam and none of it seemed real.

As I’ve contemplated what or whether to write this month, I’ve realized that what is going on is a little too relevant for me to ignore. I’ve been writing Tending to Endings for just over two years now, and though the readership is still modest (150 subscribers), you are steady! Some of you have been friends for years or family forever, and and others have been referred here because you are going through a time of loss. Or maybe you found me from a Facebook share, which probably means you are friends with my sister Amy. No matter how you found this blog, I’m glad you are here, and anytime someone takes the time to read something I have written, I am touched and appreciative. It felt important to write this post, even though I don’t yet know the shape of the story or how it might be useful.

Like many medical stories, this one already contains reasons to be hopeful as well as complications. On the good side, John is very healthy and active and doesn’t drink (hasn’t since 1988); it looks like the cancer began in the liver and has not spread; he is currently symptom free and playing tennis daily. On the complicated side, John has prior liver disease advanced enough that the tumor cannot be surgically removed without risking liver failure.

On Thursday, the surgeon referred us to a liver transplant center in Salt Lake, and we are currently researching options and awaiting that appointment. Due to the cancer diagnosis, the surgeon believes John will be placed high on the list. The upside of the transplant is that it offers the best chance of living a cancer-free life and John will have a new liver. On the downside—my husband needs a liver transplant!

I know many of you are at some point on your own hard journey or have just gotten through one or know someone who is going through something painful and full of loss. I don’t have a lot of insight to share yet, though, being me, I’m collecting observations that may someday turn into some post about surviving the first couple weeks after getting really horrible news.

For now, I’m remembering how overwhelming medical news can be. There is the worry over the person you love and then the way the axis of your life suddenly changes to a whole new plot line that includes a mountain logistics to navigate all with a hurting heart and brain that is not operating at full capacity. I didn’t even know how to manage getting home from Hawaii quickly much less helping my husband through a liver transplant. But I did make it home just in time for the first oncology appointment, which is a story of kindness and grace that I will save for another day.

John, by the way, is doing much better with all this than I am. The hardest thing for him is not being able to go out in the garage with his tools to fix his liver himself as is his usual way. But, the other day he came in from tennis and told me that he was in the car listening to music and a wave of pure joy for being alive came over him. “That happens to me a lot,” he said, “but I didn’t know it would still happen after news like this.”

That still happens for both of us.

We are at the beginning of a journey that we would not choose, but we are both seasoned adventurers. I will probably be writing about it here though I don’t know in what form or when. We have set up a Caring Bridge site to let our friends and family know more details as we learn them. You are welcome to visit there. Thank you for being part of our community. We know know we have so much love holding us.

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