I suppose some of you may be wondering what is happening with my brother. I noticed that I last wrote of my grief on June 8th. The heaviness of it has lifted as he continues to crash through the dismal predictions the doctors made. Predictions my sister made as well, being that she is an oncology surgeon. About 2 months ago we were told he might live 2 weeks. The doctors told him he should resign himself to hospice. They told him to give up essentially. I agreed with them, given what I had been told–I thought he should “let go.”
Well he was not ready to give up–he instead said, “no that is not acceptable, I want treatment.” Against their better judgment they agreed. Chemo, my sister said could also kill him within a couple of weeks as his immune system was so compromised that he could probably not tolerate it. Well here we are. Two months down the road. His abdominal tumors have shrunk so much they can feel the difference when palpating him. He hasn’t even had a cat scan yet. His pain is gone. Once again he beats the odds big time.
Almost 5 years ago now he was given 6 months. Why the fuck do doctors think they can give prognosis of this kind? My brother cannot be alone in being mind-fucked this way. I am ashamed that I thought he should give in. For all I know at this point he has several more months–maybe a year, two if the chemo keeps working. Shit–I’m willing to hope for a miracle again.
It’s not that I feel all better. His situation still hangs over my head and I feel a sense of awful painful dread when I think of him. I only want to be with him and he lives so far away. I will go to see him again in the fall. But I do have hope. Hope that he will have more time to come to peace with his life and spend quality time with those he loves. He was not at peace when I met with him last. It was agonizing to see him in such pain–both physical and mental.
His spirits are much improved now too.