This is such a hard place to be: stuck between trying to come to terms with what we've been told will happen, but also holding on to some glimmer of hope. The Campath isn't working - they aren't giving him any more of it & the GvHD is just going to keep going. The Dr said that another infection will likely come along, probably from the stomach. I can't help but hope that there will just be a tiny hook & it will catch on something, on all of the sickness inside of him & scoop it up in one big net.
Saying that, today's visit was actually a pretty good one, especially compared to the last 4 days or so. He was up & talkative, trying to bribe us with Red Lobster dinners if we'd help him get out of there. I played Bo Diddley's 'Our Love Will Never Go' & he sang along. Frankie came in for a little visit - it was overwhelmingly sweet. He smiled at her, gave her all his best 'Dad' faces - she beamed at him & seemed pretty intrigued by his bank of IV pumps.
He spoke at great length (like....for hours) of pizza, calzones & panzerotti.
Mostly he wants to get out. He wants to walk. I want those things too - more than anything.
"In your mind, can you picture yourself walking?" "Clearly."
When I picture Gord walking, I am immediately taken back about 5 years ago. We worked fairly close to each other & after work, we'd both start walking & meet halfway. No matter how crowded the sidewalk, I could always spot him from far far away. His walk. His pants rolled up, backpack, Gord Hat. We'd start waving at each other, big enthusiastic waves from a block away. Then together we'd walk randomly, taking this or that street home, picking up ingredients for our dinner. Stopping in the park. Holding hands. Hugging & kissing at stoplights.
I can see it so clearly.
What I can't see clearly, or at all, really, is what it will be like to not walk through life with him.