Five Springs 2014

May 24, 2016

Yes, many days are easier than six months ago or even three months ago. Matt runs his 27th marathon in New Paltz, NY. Peter also runs a marathon; R’el and Xiomara run half marathons; I walk a half. Jim lets the little ones sleep in (race starts at 6:00 a.m.), then brings them to the fairground.
The race organizers are conservative in their course marking: the course is well over the required 26.219 miles. My Runkeeper GPS registers 14.23 miles. Is there such a thing as an ultra-half marathon?
I sleep well that night, but feel low the next morning. It’s another first: a family gathering for a marathon race with no possibility of David joining in.

Five Springs 2014

2014 is the year of five springs. Leaving Lexington with its bare trees of March, we drive into the warm spring of Maryland. One evening I walk for miles among the pink clouds of cherry blossoms, which ring the Washington Monument, line the Tidal Basin, and surround the Jefferson Monument.
In mid-April I return to Lexington to prepare for Patriots Day, throwing me back into early spring, with the trees just beginning to bud. Then we fly to Utah, somewhere in between Maryland and Massachusetts in the springtime calendar.
My early May half marathon along the Susquehanna River in Danville, PA has the trees in full leaf and lilacs blooming. May 5th I’m back in Bethesda with azaleas in pink and red and white. I enjoy moving among these springtimes.
Five springs, and David experiences none of them, stuck in a hospital room for nine and a half weeks, experiencing appendicitis and an appendectomy, two rounds of harsh chemo, retinal bleeding, esophageal pain, slurred speech, an infected colon and colostomy, and 30 pounds of weight loss. He transforms from a healthy Army medic to a thin leukemia patient.

On Monday, May 19, 2014, I drive our black Hyundai to Steve’s and Maria’s house. From March 26 to May 19 I commute daily to Walter Reed in that car, but that evening I do laundry, pack all my clothes, and walk back to Walter Reed, determined not to leave the hospital until David and I are medevaced to Massachusetts. I am told that the plane might leave without me and that if I am allowed on board I can only take a purse with me. I go into survival mode, afraid they will leave without me. I hardly leave the fifth floor, sleeping on the pull-out couch in David’s room.

One night we walk down the corridor with his wheeled IV stand to a family lounge. He sits on the green vinyl couch and I return to his room for his pillow. The night nurse finds us and looks nervous: it's obviously against regulations to let a leukemia patient with low immunity sleep in the lounge. She kindly lets him sleep and I promise to stay awake and keep watch over him. What a simple pleasure, to nap on a green vinyl couch: the first sleep in nine weeks out of his hospital bed.