An Inconvenient Tumor

That's my nickname for Bryan's legs nowadays. Ever since he started working with Chris, his new physical therapist, Bryan's progress is astounding. Granted, I live with him and am with him all the time, so I notice the tiniest of changes. But they add up and it's inspiring to watch his brain and body re-establish their long-lost  relationship.

Yesterday, after Bryan taped Adam Carolla's podcast with Teresa Strasser, I drove him to Floyd's to get a quick haircut and shave. Since his left arm and hand are still working to regain their coordination, he needs someone to cut his hair and shave him every few weeks. I'm good for a lot of things, but there's no way I'm taking a razor to the contours of my husband's face or neck. Cutting his hair is no biggie, but I'm not going near the straight razor. Freaks me out way too much because I know I'd get nervous and be at risk for cutting him. So instead we opt for Floyd's $15 shave. Worth every penny and the resulting hearing loss. If you've been to Floyd's, you know what I mean.

As we were walking from the car to Floyd's front door, I noticed that Bryan's walking was much more even than it has been. Rather than walking in bursts of two steps - left, right then stopping - Bryan's gait was much more fluid. I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn't seeing things, but he was definitely moving in the direction of "heel-toe-heel-toe" versus the stutter-step he's been resorting to over the past few months. It was so exciting to see that I stopped him on the sidewalk for a big high-five, hug and a kiss. I'm sure it entertained the passers-by, but we were happy to be their lunchtime entertainment. My man is walking again, hoorah!!!

His left knee was also lifting much more than it has been. His left knee hasn't been bending at all when he's been walking. Try that at home sometime...walk without bending your knee. It's kind of "Frankensteinish," as Bryan likes to say. It's not that he didn't WANT to bend it, rather he just couldn't bend it. But after an insane Monday session with Chris during which Bryan had a waist harness attached to individual ankle harnesses with elastic bungee cords and forced to walk with his hand held behind his back (say that three times fast), something clicked in his brain. We left that session and Bryan was able to bend his left knee a wee bit more than he's been able to in a long while. It translated into all the activities he did throughout the day, whether it was walking around Adam's garage or walking from Floyd's shave chair to the bathroom and back.

So it's progress all around, which gives us so much hope. I even got a call yesterday from a recruiter friend of mine who knows of a freelance advertising job without travel and the potential to work from home. That would be so great, as it would be one step back towards normalcy.

I was telling a friend the other day that I just can't wait for the day when Bryan and I are able to be the givers of help and support, rather than the receivers. We don't want to be labeled with the cancer card anymore, but unfortunately that's not up to us. Nothing would be better than for Bryan to be able to drive his truck again, for both of us to get jobs again and just enjoy our lives (as close to) the way we used to. I've had a few friends say "I just feel so bad complaining to you about my life," and while I guess I can understand, the entire notion is truly ridiculous to me. Being able to share your thoughts, feelings and concerns about the minor (and major) details of life is exactly why we've got great friends in the first place. They're there for me and I'm there for them, no matter what or why. Everyone has problems; the severity of which is all relative. At least that's my opinion.

In Bryan's and my case, we're hopeful that this road to recovery leads us to a place where we can offer our support and love to everyone else, as the amount that we've received is truly overwhelming. For now, we're trying our best to focus on the positive, embrace our support system and moving forward.

That's a hard transition to make, because it wasn't so long ago that things were pretty dire. And it's a reminder that things could go that way again, as it is with the unpredictable nature of brain tumors. But truly, I'm banking on Bryan being one of the survivors that, fifteen years from now, is helping other survivors cope and being a shining example of what it's like to live with strength, courage and hope. I've just got that feeling about it.

We already know we've made a difference to a lot of people, as it seems like every day we get emails from other young cancer patients and caregiver across the country. I specifically get a lot of emails from a lot of other young wives and moms turned full-time caregiver, and it's the least I can do to establish the connection I so desperately wished I could have found just seven months ago. Because they get it, they understand living minute-by-minute, the trips to the cancer center, the hours spent in infusion, the juggling of schedules depending on how your husband feels, etc. It's such a wonderful joy for me to have these women, whom I've never met, to correspond with. It doesn't matter that they're in Connecticut, Pennsylvania, Texas, etc. It just matters that they're there and I'm here and we can be there for each other.

So while this blog is for family and friends to continue to get progress updates on Bryan, it's still also the cathartic outlet that helps me process my feelings and thoughts as Bryan improves. We've been through a lot and I have a LOT to process about what I've seen, done and heard. If it helps other people out there do the same, that's a huge bonus.

Hopefully one day soon these women and men will be able to celebrate something as small and wonderful as their significant others "ambiguously gait duo." It doesn't make any sense, but it makes us laugh. And it's true; sometimes laughter is the best medicine.

Loading mentions Retweet