One Year - One Smile

So, as of about 12:40AM this morning, it's been exactly one year since we lost Meg.  That moment a year ago, that was by far the most agonizing moment in my life.  I thought I would come home tonight, do some reminiscing, get emotional, and write something sad and somewhat depressing. That seems to be the routine for these milestone days.  The worst was New Years Eve - I was a wreck that night before I eventually pulled enough of myself together to go meet some friends.

But as I sat down to write tonight, I realized that I didn't really feel like being depressed.  I saw this photo that my mom posted on facebook earlier today:

My favorite photos of Meg are the ones that capture her laughing or smiling, and not necessarily posing for the camera.  Those are the ones that really trigger strong memories of her personality and what I loved so much about her.  She seems to come alive in those pics.  Just now, looking at these pictures reminded me of the times on our couch or in bed where we would start laughing so hard at something, and then we'd just be laughing at each other and wouldn't be able to stop.  I don't have pictures or videos of those moments, so I need to settle for the good pics that I do have, and hope they continue to trigger new happy memories.

A few months ago someone asked me what Meg's passions were, and I didn't really have a good answer.  If someone were to ask what my passion was, I'd probably say something like music, so I think I replied by saying that Meg wasn't really too passionate about hobbies.  Afterwards, I was pretty pissed at myself for not having a better response.  As I thought about it, I realized that she was probably most passionate about bringing joy to the friends and family in her life.  I don't think she would have said that if you asked her, partly because it sounds corny, but mostly because it was just part of who she was, and she didn't really understand people who acted differently.  Anyone who responded to her with a similar desire to be friendly and fun was immediately accepted into her world.  We were somewhat different in that way - she was inherently trusting of people until they gave her reason not to be, while I am initially much more reserved until I see a reason to open up to someone.  And that's just one small factor towards why she was so good for me.  But that passion, that openness, that joy, I can feel that when I see her laugh.

I thought I would post last year's eulogy tonight, but that's wrought with emotion, and I can save that for another day.  Today I just want to remember Meg as I want to remember her - being silly, laughing with friends, and sharing the love.

Haha, this one kills me, we were both dying when we saw the moment that got captured.  We were joking around on the floor and laughing, and then I accidentally starting applying pressure on her arm.  Her face is in the middle of transitioning from laughter to agony, and I'm still just laughing, so it looks like I'm really enjoying the pain that she's in!

This is the first GIF I've ever made!  I didn't even know this clip existed until I found it tonight.

Dec 2012 - A week after chemo, and toughing it out at at cold and rainy Giants game

Roadblock!

Last May/June I wrote about going to Capitol Hill to advocate for stomach cancer awareness and research funding. In February we will be joining Debbie's Dream Foundation in DC again. I probably should have posted this a while ago, but anyone can participate. You can find more information here (or just call the foundation and ask about how you can help):

http://www.eventbrite.com/e/debbies-dream-foundation-curing-stomach-cancer-capitol-hill-advocacy-day-tickets-9559076455

I wasn't really sure whether or not I wanted to do this again. Last year was pretty tough, especially with it being just two months after we lost Meg. I'm putting a lot of effort into getting my life back on track, and I can't tell yet if participating in these advocacy events sets me back or helps me move forward. She's already in my head all the time, and I'd prefer to focus on the good times. There are certain triggers that really hit me hard, and many of them revolve around Meg's attitude through her treatment, the hope that she maintained in the face of overwhelming odds. I've talked about this before...

But here's a quick story. On March 14, 2013, just 4 days after her last blog post, we checked Meg into the hospital because her liver was failing. Her symptoms were getting really bad, but we still had hope that there was going to be another chemo option and that the tumors would start responding to the treatment. I was communicating over the phone with oncologists from Georgetown, Memorial-Sloan Kettering, and Johns Hopkins. One by one, they all started telling us there were no available treatments left. Our local oncologist came to visit her hospital room that afternoon and we had the talk that you never want to have. We understood what it meant, that they couldn't give her any more chemo unless her liver got better, and the likelihood of her liver getting better without chemo was beyond a longshot. In fact, they actually believed that the tumors in her stomach had likely come back, and that was causing the blood loss she was experiencing. The only way to confirm this would be through an endoscopy. Armed with our iPhones, we were all finding details on an unrelated endoscopic procedure that could be performed in some situations to address blood loss due to liver problems. So we really wanted an endoscopy. The gastroenterologist and oncologist told us no, that it was too risky in her condition. They went away, we cried and stressed, and asked for the GI doctor to come back. We told him we wanted him to do the procedure, and he agreed, but said that he had to tell us there was a legitimate chance that she wouldn't survive it. Meg didn't think twice about it, she wasn't ready to give in if there was any chance of finding something that could help. So they got us on the OR schedule for later that evening. When it was time, the physician's assistant came to wheel Meg down. She was in good spirits, probably handling it better than any of the rest of us there. She sat there in her Giants winter cap, energy sapped, dealing with pain, and she still had that smile on.

I followed the lady as she wheeled Meg's bed onto the elevator to head downstairs. Then there were a few hallways to navigate. We turned around a corner, and came upon a cleaning cart right in the middle of the aisle. The lady paused for a second, not sure what to do, and Meg said, "Uh oh! Roadblock!"

It might seem like such a minor thing now, but in that moment, it amazed me that she was able to make a joke like that. I think I laughed, but if I did, it was probably more a laugh of sadness and appreciation. I pulled out my phone and snapped a photo, because I wanted to remember the strength that she showed in that moment. On the day that she was told she was going to die soon, on the way to the procedure that might do it.

We got down into the OR and sat in a waiting room. I was freaking out, but trying to hold it together on the outside. The GI doctor came in to go over the procedure again, and then said it was time to go. As they wheeled Meg out, she turned to me and said, "Hopefully I come back all patched up!"

(As it turned out, the doctor came back with "good news, bad news." Her stomach was clean - no tumors, no ulcers. Her initial line of chemo successfully killed the stomach tumor, and it never came back. The liver metastases were really always the biggest problem. But once he saw exactly what was going on in there, he said there wasn't any kind of endoscopic procedure that could effectively help. )

Meg always had hope. She didn't see any other way to approach it. I just wish that we had a better chance at a real hope. Even something like a 50/50 shot. We wanted to believe that she had a better chance than the statistics said, but the lack of treatment options that those top hospitals presented to us told the real story.

So I guess there really isn't much of a decision to make, when it comes to whether or not I will participate in the advocacy day on the Hill. I don't know if I'll keep doing these events forever, but if there's a chance that someone else can be helped just by telling our story, that's something I need to suck up and do. There aren't many loud voices advocating for stomach cancer right now, and I really admire Debbie's resolve.  It's still a young foundation, and I'd like to try to support her. And I go back and read some posts in that stomach cancer Facebook group, and I see new people posting the same questions we were asking a year ago. Just looking for some hope, any hope. And I realize that I made the case myself, in this video that they put together from a 15 minute interview last May.