cold is the night without you here,
just your absence ringing in my hear.
long is the road that leads me home,
and longer still when I walk alone.
i ran like a speeding train,
cut my hair and changed my name,
only had myself to blame,
for the company i was keeping.
—the oh hello’s
70 year old female has an elective pancreatectomy for a possibly malignant tumor.
"…so my husband and I decided it was my decision. I didn’t really care to do it, but when he found out there was a 70% chance of cancer, he was scared to death. I decided to have them take my pancreas out. Would I do it again? To be honest… no, I don’t think I would. Not for myself. But for him? Yeah, I would do it again for him."
45 year old wife hasn’t left the bedside of her husband on the liver transplant list as his liver suddenly fails again 10 years after his first transplant.
me: “you’re doing an incredibly impressive job of keeping up on his care. I don’t know how you do it.”
her: “well… I do it because I love him. when his liver first failed we never thought we’d be able to have another child after our son. now we have two daughters, 4 and 6. It was a miracle. I still believe in God. I still believe in my husband. I still believe he’s going to get through this.”
Tell me, are you sleepless still tonight?
Go on, live vibrantly. Grow your presence, proud and strong, quiet and humble. Unabashedly beautiful, daring, feeling. Feel with no words, infinite sensations no language can translate.
I write to you in the language of your husband’s home. A language of love, romance, and tragedy. A language that has told the stories of the greatest triumphs, struggles, and the greatest love on Earth. Tonight your husband told me he wanted to be home. He wants to keep fighting, but he wants to be home. I spoke to him tonight in spanish thinking that I might be able to bring a piece of home to him.