Time for another ill-fitting suit.

Time for another ill-fitting suit.

Every time there’s been bad news about Sam, whether delivered by an oncologist or something we observe ourselves, John uses the analogy that it’s just another poorly fitting suit; one we will adapt to within a few days. And you know, so far he’s right. Even when the news was devastating, insurmountable, I was stunned to come out the other side and find I could eat, sleep, and function.

Today’s news is just one in series of minor downhill slips and slides we’ve observed. Sam was still awake all day. He ate his meals and snacks. He made it to the bathroom every time he needed to go; no accidents. But he needed more help to stand and walk. He fell once today. And he just seems a little further away. A little quieter; a little less interested in the goings on. He didn’t want to bring the teens to school OR pick them up. That’s not good.

On the plus side, I muttered something today in Sam’s presence about my back hurting (you know that barometer for how Sam’s doing), and he whispered something in response. I immediately thought he was trying to tell me something like, “I don’t feel good,” or “My head hurts.” So I leaned in closer and asked him to repeat what he said. After about the third try I heard it: “When does it hurt?” He was worried about me. He wanted to know what I was doing that was hurting my back. I laughed it off to cover the tears welling up, and told him I needed to stop slouching.

That was so Sam. He’s still here.

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