Pierce the Night
A warm yellow light pierces the cold darkness, reaching its way through the window, into the sterile room. Morning has come.Yet, my body carries a chill from the night that can't be shaken by the suns early rays. I ache. My soul aches.
I long for morning light to pour through a window in my heart, but the curtains are still shut tight. This night may be over but my night feels like it has only begun. Feeding tubes and surgeries, chemo, interleukin and cancer trails these are my realities, these are common words in my vocabulary, common thoughts in my head.
With the light of morning my hope rises that perhaps today we can go home. But equally quickly my hope fails - going home doesn't solve anything, it doesn't make anything better. It is still night.
Sitting in the early morning silence of the hospital I feel an expectant sense of foreboding. I know that even if discharged today I will be back soon. Sage will have surgery on Thursday. Within days Bryan will start new treatments. Hard treatments. Hospitals may become a second home for me in the weeks to come. Months to come? How long will this night last?
I hear a whispered "not long" but in my heart it feels eternal. The days are full, but they drag with the heaviness of our night.
My body drags. Heavy with exhaustion. Wired with adrenaline and stress. Pulled tight. Teetering. Held in a precarious balance. One step to the right and I become a jittering mass of anxious nerves. A bundle of cortisol caught in fight and unable to stop. One step to the left and I become a heap on the floor.
They say its darkest before the dawn, but what they don't say is that sometimes that darkest hour lasts longer than an hour. Sometimes it stretches with no clock to tell you when it will end. You stumble forward. Trusting. Though the ground shakes it won't fall away in front of you. Trusting. Though the darkness persists light will pierce it... Eventually.
Rejoicing in the journey, Bethany