My doctor, before telling me the results, makes me touch my finger to my nose and to his finger, squeeze his fingers, push and pull against him to check my strength and coordination. Then he puts his hands in his lap, and faces me knee-to knee in the tiny examination room.

“Well, everything at the top of your spine looks stable. No growth. And the tumors in your lower spine have shrunk. Those appear to be gone.”

“Gone, gone?”

“Gone. Vanished. Not present on the scans.”

I can’t speak. Tears roll silently down my cheeks.

“Say that again and let me film you so my husband can hear this news,” I say. He repeats the results.

I send the video to Kurt who is at work in Colorado.

He texts me back immediately.

Gone, gone? 

Gone.

Gone, gone?

Gone.

Then the three little dots. For a long, long time. I’m not sure what he’s doing, so I’m frustrated. What’s happening? Why isn’t he sending me champagne emojis or calling to celebrate? Then suddenly I’m so tired I can’t see straight. I pull my coat over my head and fall asleep in the infusion chair.

Finally, Kurt calls.

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“I’m not sure! I didn’t have the reaction I would have scripted for the husband character in a movie,” Kurt says. “In the movie version, the husband would jump up and down, shout with joy, high-five his colleagues at work.”

I want to hear what his response actually was, but first I have to hang up and get hooked up with my next infusion. 

I call him back.

“So how did you react?” I ask.

“I put my phone down on my desk, then all I could do was put my head down, too. My whole body melted. I fell asleep! I think I passed out with relief. I guess I’ve been holding a lot…”

His response makes me cry. My husband has been holding this in for 9 years. Kurt is a power lifter and a hunter who goes to the woods alone for weeks at a time. Self-reliance is his middle name. He never seems to be phased by what we are going through as a family. But of course he is. We all are.

So rest up, my dear ones. It may be the deepest form of celebration. 

I’m sure you have been holding a lot. I bow down to you with admiration for all that you are carrying in your life. 

Vigilance is exhausting. Constant, low-grade worry wears us down.

I hope that this weekend you had time to lean your head back on the couch and rest, rest. I am deeply grateful for you. 

We are doing the hard stuff of life. Together. Thank you!

Love,

Susie

P.S) This (American) Thanksgiving, I decided we were going to do whatever Kurt wanted to do to celebrate the holiday. So we camped in the mountains for two nights in below-freezing temperatures in far northwestern Colorado. What Kurt wanted was to show his family wild, beautiful landscapes and to point out elk tracks and the brightest stars in the sky. More on that adventure soon…