Waiting to exhale

I read a blog today that spanned two years.  A high school friend of Ken's who had brain cancer. He started the blog after he was diagnosed, and his wife wrote the updates when he couldn't. And then he was gone.  He was my age.  Ken would have gone to his funeral, but I went to the ER by ambulance the day before.  Billy wrote that it was a lot of work to keep up the blog.  I know what he means.  It's exhausting sometimes.  I hope it's a good long time before Ken needs to write in my blog.  Deb, thank you for sharing, and I am praying for you.

My nephew Tarin had to go to the ER last night.  During his surgery to take out his tumor, they had to put his bowels "to sleep" to do what they needed to do.  Apparently, they went back to sleep in the last day or so.  He was throwing up constantly, and they had a hard time with the IV to get him fluids and medicine.  He's home now, and his mom is in constant contact with the surgeon at the Mayo to make sure they get the care they need in Bakersfield (which is a quagmire of medical malpractice).  Tammy, I am praying for you and yours. 

If I had to describe my life, these three words would probably sum it up:  waiting to exhale.  I feel like I am constantly holding my breath, waiting for something bad to happen.  I haven't sent Cody to any summer camps, because I'm afraid he'll get hurt.  I hold the dog's leash tighter in case he tries to run into the street.  I take Kassy the 1 mile to work, in case that crazy driver looses control and runs up on the sidewalk where she's walking.  I look in my throat every morning and every night, looking for the shiny metal.  It's been a long four years.  From the time I was first diagnosed, then losing Charlie, having to not only deal with my own grief, but to support my husband, my kids.  Having the first cervical fusion and losing my mind to the monkeys in the windows and the ghosts in the hallways, Kassy showing me a note I wrote to her that was nothing but scribbly lines.  The breast cancer, the lymph node tumors, and last Thanksgiving when they told us there were too many tumors for surgery.  I made the mistake of exhaling then, accepting whatever fate God had in store for me, taking my chemo.  And then the "cervical hardware exposure."  Now, I am free of tubes, I have no more bandages, I can eat (finally!)... and I'm still waiting to exhale.   

God is love.