Today’s rain brings a melancholy that mirrors my shallow rhythm of anxiety as we anticipate Abraham’s MRI, labs, and cognitive testing next week.
This morning, with the lull of the raindrops patting the roof of my car, Abraham fell asleep on the way to school. He brings his all each day, but sometimes the “all” he needs is rest.
He and Tommy are both at school now.
I can’t fully describe how the anticipation builds within me before an MRI. All I can say is scanxiety does not allow a feeling of confidence, but there is more to it than just fear. It carries with it a strained and weary reluctance to return to the moment where cancer struck, and our world shook until pieces of us fell away and we were left, wounded, to fight a rare and deadly disease.
But we were never alone. Together we battled, and together we will watch.
Now that the fighting has stilled, we engage instead in a reconnaissance mission to assess and maintain Abraham’s safety. Tommy will stay with Grandma; Chris, Abraham and I will return to the scene on Monday, and again every three months thereafter for scans.
Hope is the rope we hold fast as the waters of anxiety rise. We are grateful for so much and so many, and because of that bounty, we hold on – rain or shine.