Finally, some good news. The blood clot in my heart is resolving. Oh my goodness. It is such huge, positive news that it’s almost hard to comprehend. I’m so used to things going from bad to worse that this adjustment is a little hard for me. Good news…Are you sure? Yes? Fantastic.
I waited for the results of the echo with my dad in the room with the physician’s assistant. The echo had taken longer than any ultrasound before, and I could see the clot flopping around on the screen. It’s worse, I thought to myself. It hasn’t gotten better and we are headed for surgery. Oh Lord, I really don’t want them to cut my chest open, I don’t want them to stop my heart. I decided to stop watching the monitor and looked away toward the wall. I let my gaze set on the blank white space as a few tears formed and I tried to subtly wipe them away.
And then the PA told me the clot was at least half its original size. What?! I knew in my head that is good news. But crap, I wasn’t excited. I wasn’t even really relieved. Instead, as she left the room to get more answers on questions I raised, I started to break down. The hurt and the pain and the sorrow and the fear and the grief of the past three weeks came pouring out of me. In that moment, I missed my husband. Fiercely. In that moment, all the moments where I had tried to hold it together and be strong came crashing down on me and I bowed under their weight. I cried silently through the rest of the appointment and the whole hour and half drive home.
The imaging had shown just how big and nasty the original clot was. It’s no wonder I had been fatigued. This incredible mass had been obstructing the flow of blood in my heart. I know now if that thing had broken loose, it would have been incredibly dangerous, probably life ending. I can’t believe I survived that. It is now actually 1/3 that size, mostly secure, and will likely resolve on its own in the next four weeks or so.
What I know tonight is that I am incredibly grateful and equally tired. I have carried an enormous weight these past weeks and months, and there is still a long road to go. For now, it feels nice to be able to go back to focusing mostly on cancer and move forward with that battle. But also, I am starting to realize how hard this was and how broken I have been. I feel tender and soft as though I have arrived on the other side of the battle recreated and new but still vulnerable and unprotected. I realize I skimmed far too closely to the razor’s edge, and the thought of it catches me up short.
So tonight I will rest. I will seek out the comfort and peace I need and just simply rest. Thank you for all your thoughts and prayers and notes of kindness and support. It always makes all the difference and it certainly did today. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I love you.
Give ‘Em Hell