I have been hit and miss with tumblr lately. It has been such a great distraction for so long, and I've met some incredible people through this forum. Just scrolling through my dash lately my heart breaks for so many losses that friends have had. It's so hard to have a blog or keepsake that is accurate. It's so much easier to capture the happy moments. The tough ones, well to be fair, in my opinion, you don't want to remember those. There is not an Instagram filter I have found to make those less scary. I have had way too many scary moments over the last six months. Actually, probably the last almost three years. I think I have intentionally erased from my mind the number of times Mo was admitted to a hospital, had to go to an ER, had to get a blood transfusion, had to get wheeled away from me. The number of times a doctor wouldn't meet my eye, or I saw the look of fear pass Mo's or my face. You learn things in a hospital. You see things. Things no high school or college course or even general life lesson can teach you. You can concurrently see the highest of highs and watch children being brought into this world and families so happy with balloons; while simultaneously seeing people wandering aimlessly with plastic patient belonging bags and vacant stares behind their eyes. One of the loneliest moments I have ever had in this world was when Mo graduated from residency. We spent the last day of his residency with him in surgery having a lymph node removed from his neck to see if it was cancer. Spoiler alert, it was. As I packed his personal items in the room and watched the doctor come in and explain what would happen during the surgery, I put on a brave face. One I would learn to mirror many times over. Inside I was terrified. We didn't know what this could be, so we had not told any one. I was completely alone. And my person, the one person I always count on, was being wheeled away from me. Since that moment nearly three years ago there have been countless other moments that I have seen Mo wheeled away from me. That I have been that person walking through the hospital in a daze, bumping into people and apologizing. I lived two months of my life having to go through three sealed doors, a containment area, and many other protocols, just to see my husband. Mo and I are too young to have seen and experienced so much of what we have. But here we are. And I know we are fortunate. Mo is on the other side of 100 days. That is what the bone marrow transplant department designates as the critical window post transplant. They tell you after this to go back to your "normal" life. I think Mo and I are both slowly trying to remember what that is, all the while knowing we live in a shadow of what could happen, never getting too comfortable. Because let's be honest, nothing is ever normal after this. But I know we can't live like that. For all the shitty things that have happened to Mo, there has been a lot of good, so that is what I have tried to focus on. His sister was a perfect match, and that is not a guarantee of siblings, the odds are actually not in that favor. And I am not trying to tell any woman or family what to do with their child or body, but if you have a child, consider banking their cord blood. It could save a life. It could save theirs, or a siblings, or yours, or many, many others. Mo is in a good space now. There is a lot of work ahead and still a lot of doctors visits, but wow. Again the things you don't blog about. I don't know if words will ever accurately be able to share what the last six months has been for us. Sometimes I catch myself just staring at Mo and tearing up. For no other reason than him sitting on our couch looking at me seemed like such a far away idea not but a few months ago. I know there has been so much loss lately. And there are so many scary things happening. But with Easter coming tomorrow, and Persian New Year happening in our family, I can't help but be grateful for Spring, and for what the promise of hopefully a fresh beginning might look like.
