Day Two: This is my normal - for now.
January 9, 2025
The day started early—5:15 a.m. Labs were drawn, and a new IV bag was hooked up. I slept for four solid hours, which felt like a small victory. However, I still experience a lot of pain whenever I move my hips or engage my abdominal muscles. Pain is a sharp teacher, relentless in its lessons.
In the quiet morning hours, I read about the tragedy in California. Strangely, other people’s struggles can feel like both a distraction and a connection to the greater human experience. We all carry so much.
Maria arrived around 5:45 a.m., bringing a small dose of comfort in her presence. She helped me to the bathroom and brought me a comb. It’s incredible how a simple gesture can restore a slight sense of normalcy. I’ve decided to write a children’s book—Christopher’s Daily Fight with His Cowlick. A little whimsy in the face of everything seems like the right kind of project.
Anxiety has been a frequent visitor. I hate feeling this dependent on others. I’ve always valued my independence, and this feels like unfamiliar terrain. Maria called the in-laws to update them, which went about as expected. We’ve started talking about legal documents—just in case. It’s something we should have done years ago. Note to self: urge everyone you care about to handle this sooner rather than later.
Trying to stand and go to the bathroom was an ordeal today. The pain was excruciating—like a hot poker in my hip, twisting and mocking me. It took a few minutes to figure out how to move without inviting that agony. But I did it. Progress, even when slow, is still progress.
The medical side of the day was relentless:
A renal/kidney ultrasound.
Three CT scans.
One guided a biopsy while the others searched for cancer’s hiding spots.
We are now waiting for the biopsy results. Waiting is always the most challenging part, but today was so busy that there wasn’t much time to dwell on it.
Today, I met two new doctors: a kidney specialist and an oncologist. Both were kind, thorough, and had excellent bedside manners. They took the time to explain everything, making the experience less daunting.
Tomorrow, I have small plans: attempt a walk, stick to a low-protein diet, and try to keep moving forward.
The highlight of my day was talking to my Dad. Even in such moments, he makes me laugh and reminds me that God has a plan. Whatever comes next, I’m holding onto that.
Day two was busy, exhausting, and full of challenges. But it also reminded us of resilience, care, and connection, on to tomorrow.