“I don’t do much, I just am,” Angela said smiling. “It’s already very, very tiring.”
The bear’s arms have gotten very thin, her body large.
Last night I caught her looking at her hands. “It’s odd,” she said, “they look like someone else’s hands, not mine.” She dropped the dog’s bowl on the weekend. She dropped her glasses twice. She puts her iphone on a flat surface to type a message. If she holds it to type, her left arm grows numb.
It’s better not to wonder why her arms are no stronger, perhaps weaker, than before. This morning, like most mornings since we have been together, we had coffee with foamed milk.
It’s better not to worry about why she still needs as much pain medication now as she did a month ago.
This morning we spoke, as we usually do, about what we dreamt last night. We are proud of her perseverance. When I am dressed for work, as usual, she tells me I look…perfect. We are awake in the night when pains are still soothed with milk and honey. We still, nevertheless, enjoy a good pain au chocolat with our café au lait, and, still, each day, there is work to be done.
We knew when Angela started radiation therapy that improvements could be quite delayed. Now we count on it. Better not do as I am bound and read too much into Angela’s persistent symptoms, especially since, without question, there is another triumph at hand. Thursday is her last radiation treatment. On the same day we meet the surgeon. The end is a new beginning. We don’t know if we even scored a goal, but we are claiming a victory. Angela is coming home. We will be ready for the next step.
Angela, let’s build a fire. Please, we will put up some lights, turn on some music, and let’s both wear jewelry. If you’re the bear, I’ll be the knight. Please Angela, let’s kill that dragon! I love your thin arms. Let’s celebrate 15 years, and, above all, let’s plan 15 more!
And friends, the school term is over. Let’s all enjoy the holidays. And let’s, of course, be in touch.
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