Friday, September 18th the neurosugeon made his morning rounds. He brought Sherry and me the final results from the pathologist. The final report was the same as the preliminary: glioplastoma, level 4. While he could answer some of the questions, the big ones remained a mystery.
After the doctor left I cradled Sherry in my arms with as much of my body as I could get in the narrow hospital bed next to hers.
She whispered to me, "I know about taking a leap of faith, but I was pushed."
We again found intimacy in the early morning hours. "We have another day!" became our waking mantra. We also used a lot of the aloe treated tissue that Marie had thoughtfully provided. Our grief made a pot of tear soup.
Sherry celebrated her 64th birthday on the 19th. We gave a resounding affirmative rejoiner to the Beatles' question. "Will you still need me, will you still feed me when I'm sixty-four?"
Friends brought a sprig of lavender and a swag of sage. Their fragrance cut through the antiseptic smell of the hospital, and the next morning our pre-dawn intimacy found exhubrance in our "We have another day!" mantra. We are alive. Life is good. Life is for living.
Sherry told me that she could not retreat into a "Why me?" pool of self pity. Her reply was simply, "Why not?" She refused to remove herself from the shuffle of events that occur in all of our lives at one time or another. Hearing her express this context was both an ilumination and comfort for me. Why not?
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