Beating The Odds

“It’s not the dying part.  It’s all the stuff before that, and what will happen to my body.”

~ David~

The day we left for Mississippi, David received his formal diagnosis.  Once we were back, we too learned of the news.  I had the chance to speak with David’s sister yesterday.  I was on my run, and like I’ve been doing lately, thinking of David.  I thought, if I see his sister, I’m stopping and speaking with her.  I ran past her house in the subdivision where I’ve run many times and rarely see anyone out.  I saw no one on my way in.  I ran the half mile loop and as  I ran by her house again, my wish was granted.  I couldn’t believe it when I saw her coming out her front door.   I stopped.

We talked for about 20 minutes and I learned so much.  That he is trying to manage his life as normally as possible – within the realm of whatever his “new normal” is going to be.  That he is in good spirits, dealing with it in his own David like way.  That he wants to try and get back into working out, for as long as he can.  That he’s gained back 8 lbs of the 15 he’d lost.  That he will go to Duke for care.  That his parents – both in their eighties – have yet to fully grasp what he has and that it’s fatal.  That he wants to hang on long enough, for them.  All of that, and more, made me tear up, brought a lump that sits in my throat even today, and won’t go away.

My friend.  Our friend…, is dying.  Not immediately.  Not tomorrow.  Not next week and hopefully, prayerfully, not for a few years.   Still…, too soon, though.  It is too soon.

My runs are forever changed.  My mind turns inward, seeking to retrieve the memories, tucked away, something to hang on to.  Ten miles we used to run, EVERY Saturday.  TEN MILES.  My husband and I are sad faced, sad hearted, prone to staring blankly, while the world before us carries on.

But…, what about David?

So what that we are sad, clinging to our thoughts, worrying about the what if’s of our own health.  BIG FUCKING DEAL.  What about him??  What is he thinking when his eyes open in the morning?  About what he will have to face?  What will it be like for him?  What about his wife?  His company?  His children, who have yet to graduate college, yet to marry, yet to have kids, his grandchildren he will never see?  I mean, seriously, what is he thinking, and how does he really feel?

He wouldn’t tell, even if we asked.  All of our earnest sincerity and goodwill would be met with a bland look, and then he’d probably answer our question with one of his own, “Hey, you doing okay?”

This is all very premature, I realize.  Who can say?  He could beat the odds.  Look at Stephen Hawking.   That’s what we can hope for, that he will be in that % of diagnosed patients who beat the odds.  That he won’t fall into the “generally speaking” statistics , but will burn his own course around the experts carefully woven pathways of data.

Beating the odds sounds like a for real David sort of move anyway.

That’s what we will hope and pray for, beating the odds.  Period.


COMMENTS

  • Carolynnwith2Ns

    November 8, 2013

    Reply

    Oh Donna…I knew when you first wrote about David and I wrote about my cousin, I just knew. My heart aches for you because I understand the helplessness you feel. I have no words of comfort or advice. I’m so sorry.
    BUT:
    TEN MILES, you two ran TEN MILES every Saturday. Okay, David may have health issues he will learn to deal with but, TEN MILES, that man was running with a crazy woman, actually you are both crazy.

    • Carolynnwith2Ns

      November 8, 2013

      Reply

      Just wanted to add LOVE… to all of you.

      • donnaeve

        November 9, 2013

        Reply

        Awww. Thank you, Wry. It’s very sad, and hard to wrap one’s head around.

        Actually, those runs weren’t the craziest. We used to meet early, and in the winter months it would be dark. The moon did its best to light the way, (When it was out) Once, we ran a different route, a trail run, and there had been a wintry mix the day before. We had to get off the trail when we realized it was too dangerous, (i.e. both of us slipping around and unable to SEE) We had to do the run on the road – except that added at least a couple extra miles. David always wanted to know what I wouldn’t put up with, i.e. what would I NOT run in. I told him lightning, otherwise, I ran. He shook his head, and guess what he said? “Crazy.”


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