ANAL AYNSLEY:So, before I get into today, just a couple quick notes I want to share with everyone:
1) Mom's name is FLYNNE. I know she can't see when it's misspelled, but it drives me batty
2) PLEASE make sure that if you visit the hospital, you wash your hands frequently. Hospitals have crazy weird germs in them and Mom's immune system isn't the strongest in the world. Please either use the hand sanitizer that is everywhere in the hospital or wash your hands in the sink when visiting. This is for your protection, too!
I have a confession to make. I used to think that every good day or every good sign was the eye of the storm. I thought that it was the result of her picking something to succeed in, focusing all her energy into having that one victory and then she'd have nothing left. When I was in the hospital for those first two weeks, I watched her deteriorate quickly. I watched her lose her sight in three days, watched her lose her balance and lower body strength. I listened to her voice slow and change pitch, I watched her head get shaved and her hair fall out. I watched as she struggled to swallow, then cornered the oncologist in the hallway and demanded to know if she was going to asphyxiate. I watched her take one step forward and two steps back and I clung to my theory of her going out in a ball of fire and energy, having one shining day of strength before going downhill fast. I was terrified to celebrate the good days or the strong moments because I thought they meant something bad just around the bend. I was wrong. And I'm finally comfortable now to admit it. I am not afraid that a day like today, stronger than she's been since the diagnosis, more self-sufficient than ever, means tomorrow will be terrible. Okay, I'm a little afraid, but I'm not carrying my phone with me into the bathroom anymore. My heart doesn't sink every time I get a text message or an email.