It’s been more than two weeks since I’ve last written. The best news is surgery #1 was successful in evicting the cancer. We are so grateful to the surgical team at Georgetown University Lombardi Cancer Clinic/Oursman Breast Center. There are still some unknowns when it comes to treatment and the more extensive surgery #2, but no cancer is a great phrase to hear and write. I should be in a very celebratory mood, right? I’m not. It’s strange this existence I’m inhabiting right now. The things that used to incite joy just don’t anymore. As a matter of fact, I can’t seem to find joy or contentment anywhere. What is wrong with me? Luckily, I do have much more headspace for work, so that’s been a slight change for the better. Before the cancer was out, I worked but really just meandered through the day with limited brain capacity to think about anything other than Mrs. Koog and the “possible but not probable” outcome. But as for my non-work life, I’d describe it as uncomfortable.
I’m sitting here in the surgical waiting room at Medstar Georgetown University (MGUH). So many of our friends and family offered to accompany me during this vigil. I couldn’t articulate why I needed to be alone, but I just felt like I needed to silently grieve what my wife was losing and I didn’t want to burden anyone with that heavy silence. When I am stressed, I write. Ever since I was a kid, words were always my source of comfort in times of crisis and they were my source of memory in times of fun and excitement. But today, a day when I have such acute feelings of sadness, grief and gratitude, I find I’ve lost my words. I thought about why this was as I wandered (read: got lost) the MGUH labyrinth of buildings in search of food. Finally finding the Chick-Fil-A, grabbing my food and swallowing my tears it hit me. I didn’t lose my vocabulary, there’s just so many layers to the sadness, fear and gratitude it's overwhelming and it's very close to the surface. Arriving at the