She Is Tired, She Is Weary

It's Saturday and Abby's birthday.  It's as quiet here as a church on Tuesday, with everyone but me and the dog sleeping.  I am soaking in a bubble bath, my favorite place to journal, my mind climbing through the peaks and valleys of the last two days.

I am tired, I am weary
I could sleep for a thousand years
A thousand dreams that would awake me
Different colors made of tears

-Lou Reed/Velvet Underground Venus in Furs 

Jenny slept more than 20 hours after

    Saint-Severìn Gothic
Church
  Paris, 2018.

Thursday's chemo.  I fed her eggs and toast when she came to the couch. She was worse than lethargic upon waking yesterday and throughout the day, frankly,. Although she did manage to get up and out with her best friend Amelia for a few hours in the afternoon. They ran errands together in preparation for Abby's 16th birthday, which is TODAY. She, Jenny, barely spoke in the evening, although she did manage to get enough energy to eat the chicken and the vegetarian frittata I served her.  And, amazingly, no nausea.

As I was soaking in the bath, Jenny texted me from her bed.  It was 945ish.  She needed help. Poor thing is still so run down from chemo and jacked up on Rick Simpson oil that it took

Abby in S.F.

another hour for her to motivate.  Even then, it was still touch and go. 

She was curled up in her grandmother's chair and not functioning when I left, and still needing to bake a cake and get the house ready for the party.  Cleaning the house and cooking, I suspect, will be my job when I arrive home, which is my job every other day, so not a surprise.

Jenny told me, while I was sipping my coffee before going with Abby to acting, (which is where I am now), she thinks she is going to beat this thing.  I answered, "Me too." I am not sure what other answer there is to give, even if that weren't true, and it isn't.  I don't see that as a possibility.

Therapy on Friday with my therapist was helpful, as always.  I told the Dr. the story of last Saturday's decision to sign up and deliver for Door Dash by Jenny while she was here on Mercer Island (the same day she demanded my help shopping for Easter, when she knew I had plans for once in my life) and the therapist was flabbergasted.  I mean that is an appropriate response, but it was nice to get reinforcement. I turned the topic to Jenny's generous nature.  It baffles me how someone that is so giving can be, at the same time, so selfish. My therapist pointed out that this is true, she is generous with everyone except me and my daughters.  Ouch.  I asked the doctor how she would describe this therapy, after 8 months.  She said she has never had a case like this.  The players aren't acting like they normally do.  When I suggested she meant that many people in my shoes would leave, she said that she was referring to Jenny not acting as expected, not me.  I told her that to my core i intend to see this through to the bitter end, one way or another.  I also suggested that if Jenny really has achieved stable disease and it lasts a long time, that I will have to reevaluate my role here. I don't intend to be contradictory, but if she achieves chronic illness, and is no longer facing a certain and early death, I need to be ready to make a different game plan.  I just don't know how or when to do that.

The hardest thing, after believing she is dying, is not knowing from week to week where this is illness is going. If the Catholic limbo could be described in a meaningful way, this feels like it. Neither heaven nor hell, but unimaginably and indescribably uncomfortable, this is.  There is no thing, no series of steps to take, nothing to make this ok.  Not at. All.  I want to protect my daughters from the iron maiden pain of loss, and to help Jenny to minimize her suffering. I want my children to understand this affair is not okay and no one should treat them as I am being treated.  I want them to further understand that when you love someone and she is in the hour of

Saint-Severìn No. 03.,
Robert Delauney 1909

  

greatest need, self-abnegation may be an obligatory duty.  It is an independent obligation, a human obligation.  To err may be human, and forgiveness reserved for the divine, but I can still love you and care for you, even if I cannot forgive you.  I'm still working through this weeping wound every fucking day.

Tonight we will have family over, Jenny's sisters.  It will be awkward, given that they are so indescribably selfish. They are rarely here, and often out of town. In fact, both times Jenny has had a scan over the last 10 weeks, they have planned other things knowing the calendared scan day.  Fucked up.  Thay they aren't here helping her ready the house today is incredibly predictable and disappointing. My therapist said it's a family trait.  I can't really argue with her.

Imagine waking up everyday and not knowing if your cancer was progressing, stable, or disappearing.  Everyday. So difficult to imagine or to live with, right? Then imagine you are the spouse. Next, imagine you are the spouse and your terminally ill spouse is in a long-term affair and won't stop seeing that person, actually telling you, out loud that you aren't worth the risk. You never know when you will be able to leave.