what's next

I posted this picture on Facebook a few days ago. I captioned it "Joy".  I should have captioned it "Waiting for the hammer to fall."

If there is some sort of award for whomever has the most miserable summer, I swear we are not trying to win it.

Likewise, if there is some sort of emotional Iron Man endurance challenge, we're also not interested.

But here we are. 

We knew. 

We knew when the scans took longer than normal. 
We knew when they said, "Well, maybe it's just radiation damage."
We knew when they said they needed to take a biopsy just to check it out.
We knew when we sat at the little Italian restaurant outside of Mayo Clinic pretending to eat ravioli and fettucine on a sidewalk in Florence. 
We knew that this would not be good.
We knew.

But we didn't share. Not until we told our kids, not until we had enough information. 

That's a lie - we'll never have enough information - but at least we had some, and so after two weeks, we're ready to share.

Rico's cancer is back. It is in his leg, a bit smaller than last time, but back. For the moment that means more surgery,  more radiation, and inpatient chemo starting on Monday, right after we get Punk off to college.

It also means more hugs, more love, more snuggles. It means more appointments, more tears, more struggles to make sure everyone's everything is taken care of. 

But he is my everything. As long as he’s taken care of, we’ll be ok.

We walked along the street fair in Rochester, and happened across a a friend’s band playing. We held each other and danced in the street as they played I'm Yours  right outside of the oncology building. He said, “We sure are lucky. We have each other on this beautiful day - we’re lucky.”

I kissed him and held him and agreed, “we are.”

Being in love with him makes me the luckiest in the world.