hope and fear

The sub-title should be "The 99 Lives of Tad Crandall"

Tad has everyone surprised yet again.

I almost regret not having followed my gut and flown back to SF Tuesday night - since I felt so sure he would get better. At the same time - our policy has become: "No future tripping and no regrets"; a tough one to uphold at times.

The closest explanation for why Tad has these bouts of weakness, light-headedness and drop in blood pressure that go unexplained is that his intestines are highly sensitive due to the continued exposure to chemotherapy; they may even be semi-porous. Some stomach bacteria may be crossing into the bloodstream at times causing him to have infection-like symptoms. The docs recognize they may never know exactly but this is the best description that two infectious disease, two pulmonary and two oncology specialists have been able to come up with based on an astounding number of tests which have all come back negative.

In the meantime Tad has been getting stronger and stronger, eating full meals, having conversations with folks calling, skyping and visiting and watching television. He vacillates between a bit sluggish and loopy and playful and snarky; he still spends most of his time in bed but he has been taken off all of the apparati that might keep him in ICU as he readies himself to go to a General Medicine/Oncology floor soon and the staff ready themselves for a low-key, three-day holiday pace.

Today I decided to fly back to SF soon - no doubt tomorrow - and come back with a car and more belongings. This isn't exactly how we planned on getting to Seattle but it's the best we can do given the circumstances.

Our beloved Natasha has offered us a flat she owns up in Bellingham - a mere 90 mile drive from here if that is convenient. Clearly I can't keep paying for a hotel room for the next six months even if it's a cheap one.

I spoke to the oncologist who will be treating him and they suggested a bone marrow biopsy but recommended that we give Tad time to get stronger before starting any new treatment. They could feel our eagerness to begin and had to slow us down a bit.

One of the nurses from Santa Cruz called today to ask about him - a gesture that amazes me. I made a point to really express my gratitude for her warm support. She replied something I've said so many times before to others: "Tad is very easy to love. He brings it out in me, he makes me want to be more loving."

When I brought him this message he shared with me how impressed he is by my capacity to already have made lasting relationships with people here who spontaneously come by the hospital to check in on us. He spoke of how my smile brightens the room.

We've both come to a point in our lives where we can actually feel the love that surrounds us - it's palpable. And we're able to take ownership of the loving men we've become.

I told Tad that it's very clear to me that if he should die his love would remain a solid constant in my life. This seemed like a revelation to him - a huge, reassuring revelation. Something he was unknowingly yearning to hear.

As he continues to get better I have begun to panic about the immediate future: my $1100/month flat where I haven't slept in weeks, my health insurance that's connected to San Francisco, my lack of connection to a meditation community here...I know from experience that I only need to focus on the next right step. That appears to be buying one of those really cheap one way tickets to SF on the Saturday of Memorial Day when no one is flying.