We go through this every three months. The fear. The depression. The realization that my life is an hourglass and I watch grains of life slip through my fingers. Today is lab/tests. Thursday we find out if the new treatment is working. If my markers drop, we celebrate. If they increase, we lift our chins a bit higher and prepare to fight harder.

Every three months I ask for prayers. Prayers for the markers to show us hope. Prayers that God continues to bless me with more time.

I try to be brave and strong. I avoid crying about this shitty hand. But every three months the fear sneaks up. And the depression. Let’s call what it is. This exhaustion I feel this week and the quick to cry is depression. I’m depressed this is happening to me. Depressed my husband has to battle this with me. Depressed our son will have a harder life because of my broken body. It’s not fair. And there are days when I feel forgotten by God.

My heart has been racing all day today. My stomach in knots. My mind fast forwards to Evan graduating, getting married, making me a grandma and I wonder (plead) will I get to see these milestones? Will I be holding Chris’s hand 10years from now?

I cry one day every three months. I’m allowed this. I know God will give me strength to face the results no matter what later this week. He will rescue me from myself and my thoughts. Until then I’m the lady in the hospital parking lot crying.