Live Like Lickiss

367 days ago, a doctor at Wesley confirmed to Brad what I already knew.  Granted, a doctor with a very harsh bedside manner had gut punched us 8 days prior with the words "pancreatic cancer" when we thought we were seeing him to get a referral for a biopsy procedure to find out what we were dealing with exactly.  I remember asking him how he could know without a doubt that it was pancreatic.  The only tests he had received so far was an MRI.  No biopsy.  No PET scan.  Nothing like that.  I will never ever forget the words he said, "I've seen this enough, I just know."  He then patted Brad on the shoulder, told him "sorry for the bad news" and walked out the door.  People have told me so many times over the past months how strong I am.  Little do they know that on that day, Brad was the strong one.  I crumbled.  I sobbed.  My knees buckled.  Somehow I managed to shoot a text off to my friend that simply said "I'm going to lose him."  He had to fill out the paperwork for the upcoming ERCP on his own.  He had to go back for the CA19-9 blood draw.  The one who had just been told one of the worst cancers out there was growing inside him, had the strength I couldn't find and kept it together while I completely fell apart.  

October 11th.  The day finally arrived for the MRI that would hopefully tell us what was going on with Brad.  I tagged along for moral support and because I was starting to really get worried about him.  In the past two days his color had progressively became more of a yellow tone.  It was noticeable enough that Logan had mentioned something to him, and I did a double take when I saw his torso after he took a shower that morning.  I think he might have been able to glow in the dark he was that yellow. Something was definitely going on. 

When October 6th rolled around and Brad hadn't heard anything from the doctor, I had him call them.  We knew they had sent off numerous vials for testing for numerous things but I really expected to know something by this time.  The only news he received was that he was negative for Hepatitis but his liver levels were elevated.  The doctor who saw him wanted him to avoid any alcohol consumption and to not take any ibuprofen over the weekend and come back in for labs on Monday (the 9th).  

Today marks the one year anniversary of the very first time he stepped into a doctors office for this awful disease.  A year ago today we were trying to figure out how out youngest was suddenly 19 years old and not even remotely thinking about cancer.  Brad not being here to celebrate #20 with him was a nightmare that we never dreamed would become our reality.  

I'm a day late writing this post.  A day late because I thought nothing significant happened on October 3, 2023 and nothing really did but that's the catch of it. It was part of the calm before the storm per say.  Looking back on our texts from then, you would never ever have any idea what was about to smack us square in the face was winding up to zing that fast ball.  We talked about the weather and the significant risk area we were in the middle of for rare early October severe weather.  I sent him the link to Lawrence's obituary, a man who was very special to both of us on different levels.  We discussed if Lance would make the trip home for the funeral that coming Saturday.  I sent him pictures of Australian Shepherds that I wanted to get a puppy (he promptly said "hell no") and a link to a very pretty Charolais heifer that was coming up for sale. (He said no there too).  

After expressing my concerns that Brad needed to get checked out, I remember having a random thought the next day.  What if it's cancer?  Now why would I have a random thought about cancer?  I'm not naturally a pessimestic person.  I tend to view things with a positive twist however I do have the worry trait that runs rampant in the Wilson clan.  But Brad's stomach was hurting.  His pain was what he described as being "air locked".  Brad chewed as well and instead of spitting his chew spit everywhere, he just swallowed until it was time to spit his chew out.  I had given him crap most of our relationship that one of these days I would stop kissing him because skin from his rear would be on his face because that chew was going to eat it away.  Now I was worried that instead of causing cancer in his mouth, it had eaten a hole in his stomach or decided to grow cancer tumors.  

I can still remember the first day of October, 2023 like it was yesterday.  It was a Sunday that started off with Brad needing to dig a hole.  Our cat (who was brought home by Brad and Kaleb 18 years prior) had passed away in the night.  Kitty was a pain in the rear and even though Brad threatened to kick her outside numerous times, she was deeply loved.  I could tell Brad wasn't feeling the best but he didn't complain about doing what needed to be done.  The sun was shinning, Lance was headed back north to Nebraska and Brad was headed to spend time with his long time friend who had just lost his dad.  We didn't realize it at the time, but a dark shadow was getting ready to move in on us.  Maybe we should have with all the death that was surrounding us that day but that's the thing about life.  You don't plan for it to end.  You don't seek the ending.  You don't think about it.

God’s timing.  It’s a weird timeline that I’ve been struggling to comprehend and understand recently.  It doesn’t make sense.  It doesn’t make life easy to navigate.  It’s painful. It’s gut-wrenching and it’s confusing.  It can flip our world upside down and leave us feeling vulnerable and questioning everything we’ve known.  The sands of the hourglass that God controls do not measure the same as the hourglass that sits on our mantles.  No matter how deep one’s faith runs with God, his timing can leave us questioning and doubting.  Here recently, I’ve found myself doubting God’s timing regarding Brad’s timing. How can a God who is so great have allowed such a beautiful spirit as Brad to be wrecked with such a horrible disease?  How was it in His plan to take him from us all at such a young age? 

I hate rollercoasters.  I always have and I'm pretty certain I always will.  I know, when you ride one you are buckled securely into your seat and the odds of a person falling out are probably pretty low, but I still hate them.  The simple thought of riding in a little cart while it slowly creeps up a steep incline just to zoom down the other side at twice the speed, to them launch up into a steep bank and then barrel through a loop-de-loop with absolutely zero control.  Thanks but NO THANKS!  I can think of many other ways to spend my time and keep my lunch in my tummy.

Memorial Day.  The unofficial beginning of summer.  The last Monday of May every year. The last day of a three day weekend where people gather together with family or friends and maybe take in a parade somewhere.  It's also a time where people generally find themselves visiting loved ones graves and placing flowers or remembrance items.  Memorial Day was and is focused on honoring the men and women who died while serving in the US military but we find ourselves remembering and honoring all our loved ones who have passed on.  But why just on Memorial Day?

Delusion is here again and I think you’ll come home soon.

Today I threw a patio chair. Picked it up, screamed and launched it.  And then I crumbled to the ground, ugly crying while I pounded on the ground.  I can’t 100% remember the garbled words that escaped my lips in my wails but I know “Why” and “just want him back” were among them.  There were tears and dirt.  Snot and hyperventilating.  The cries felt like they came from the bottom of my soul and fought their way out of my body.  It was not pretty, not graceful, yet it happened, and I needed it too.