El Indio
Berek was diagnosed with cancer today. I don't know how we are here or how to move forward, so I'm just dumping all of my thoughts.
The day started with an awards assembly where Natalie was honored with the "Disciple of Christ" award and then we went home to get ready for Bear's colonoscopy appointment. We watched the BYU football highlights reel, listened to some of Kenneth Cope's "My Servant Joseph" musical, and took a phone call from his mom.
We ran into the father of Lydia's classmate and flag football teammate at the appointment and the guys made jokes about it being a bonding experience and having something new to talk about at football games. They told us they didn't know how long the colonoscopy would take, since it depended on the findings, so to stay close and they'd call me when it was time to pick him up. We kissed goodbye, I sat in the car for a bit, and then I drove around Hillcrest, looking for a park, so I could just sit in the sun for a while.
As soon as I got to the park and settled in, the office called and said he was ready. I thought it was weird that they wanted to know exactly how long it would take me to get there, but figured it was because we lived so far away and they thought it would take longer. When I arrived, there wasn't any parking available, so I parked along the street, right across from the office, in a permit-only area. We had seen several men leaving their appointments before Bear went in, so I even left the car running and put the blinkers on.
When I checked in at the desk, they seemed confused about who I was there to pick up and said I needed to wait for a nurse to take me back. Did we miss seeing that for the half dozen men who left while we were in the waiting room? The nurse took me to Bear's bed and I did notice no one else in the beds had anyone with them. They closed the curtain a bit and said a doctor would come see us to talk about the procedure. We just thought that was normal.
The doctor told us what they did and what they saw, referencing a stack of papers in his hand with little images splashed all over. He said they removed several tumors, but were unable to remove the largest tumor. Everything was calm and we just sat listening, and at some point, he said he's never seen a tumor that large not be cancer. Things kind of blurred and I tried to "lock in." He said they took a bunch of samples for biopsy and put a rush on them, ordered labs, would refer us to a colorectal specialist, and an oncologist. Bear would have to have surgery very quickly and they'd come up with a plan for chemo and radiation. "This is a lot all at once, I know. I'm sorry I don't have better news. Do you have any questions I can answer for you?" We both just stared silently at the doctor, never looking at each other. I finally pointed at the papers in his hand and said, "You're saying that's definitely cancer?" Of course he couldn't say it absolutely was, but he'd never seen tumors like that which weren't cancer. Bear muttered under his breath, "I effing knew it." Someone said something about the kids and the doctor asked if we had children. Bear said, "Yeah, we have eight children." The doctor kind of looked shocked and said, "Oh, wow. That's...hard." It was awkward.
The nurse came in and asked if we were okay and said they'd give us some time alone. I just kept staring at Bear, who had literally no reaction, and I told him I didn't know what to do. Like...what is the very next step we take in life from this moment? I just wanted to stay there forever or, better, go back to the morning. How were we supposed to leave there and pick the kids up from school and go to soccer practice and make dinner and tell them to do their homework and fight with them over taking showers before bed? It just didn't make sense.
The nurse came back and said she could still give us more time, but I said we needed to hurry to pick the kids up from school. She said, "Oh, you have children?" and Bear replied, "Yeah, eight of them." "That's amazing!" You could tell she was shocked and then sadness filled her face. I said, "Or it's reckless." The nurse laughed and said, "Okay, but that's kind of cute." She said she was normally required to help the patient get dressed, but that she'd allow me to do it, if we preferred and if I was very careful. We said I could do it and I helped Bear get back into his street clothes. He was sitting on the edge of the hospital bed and I stood between his legs while he wrapped his arms around my waist and laid his head on my torso. I didn't want to leave. Could we just freeze time?
I helped Bear into the car, which was still running and still parked illegally AND for such longer than I'd originally planned! By the grace of God, the normally rabid meter maids had not left us a present. We sat in the car a bit, trying desperately to find someone to pick the kids up from school, then took Bear to 7-Eleven. I finally called my mom and asked if she could get the kids and she obliged. This meant we could stay in the area for an hour before picking Robert up from football practice.
Bear hadn't eaten since Saturday (today is Monday), so I asked what he wanted to eat. He said he really wanted a burrito, so I looked at Maps for nearby Mexican food places. El Indio popped up and I asked if he'd like to eat there. Can you believe that boy said he'd never eaten there or even heard of it?! When we walked into the restaurant, I told him it was a good sign that so many elderly Mexican men were eating there because we knew they wouldn't waste their time for inferior comida!
Bear ordered an enchilada platter and a burrito and I got beef flautas. Then the tears started up and never stopped. We decided not to tell anyone until we had more info about what stage he is, when surgery will be, what treatment might look like. He kept telling me I had to promise not to Google anything and that I needed to not worry about all of the possibilities until we had more information. I said I wished we could fast-forward to know how it all turns out, then rewind and live through it at a normal speed. I just need to know how this is all going to go. He did say, "The big kids will be fine. They'll remember me. I worry most about the little kids. It hasn't been enough time." I could hardly eat and just kept crying and crying, with Bear telling me I was going to blow our cover because I was such a mess. As kids these days would say, "Bruh!" I cry at NCAA commercials, so a cancer diagnosis for the love of my life is going to rattle me!
I've asked Bear not to leave me about a million times and he keeps laughing and telling me he won't. It's hard because we've been in a rough patch and this throws a wrench into that, ha! Maybe that's part of the plan? Because now we just have to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps. I haven't wanted to be away from him all evening, which is impossible with our family schedule. I just want to stay wrapped up in each other and to pause the world for a while.
So, yeah. Now what? How do we go back to the world being normal? (Which is hilarious because we currently live in a total hellscape where the world is anything but normal.) Bear doesn't physically feel differently, but I want to keep him happy and rested and away from the stressors of life. I already feel like I'm drowning 98% of the time, so how am I supposed to move forward?
I don't know... I'm just rambling, but I felt prompted to write it all down for now. Maybe this will be what finally gets me journaling regularly. (Doubt it.)
Minutes before the worst news ever:
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