...I still remember what I was wearing that random night at the Chicken. White denim mini skirt and a navy blue top. Yep. I should have worn that outfit every time I went out.
So, where were we? Ahh yes.
My mom wasn't able to be with me at the hospital because of her physical disabilities at the time, so I was alone there. It kills me to think back how bad she felt about it, but it was what it was.
In order to do the remarkable things they do at MD Anderson, the system simply must be a ginormous, well-oiled machine. The staff are amazing and very compassionate, but you are a number (I still remember mine) and the processes are fast and mechanical. Pick up your orders here, go there, do this, move to the next place, do that... I had biopsies, blood tests, doctor visits, team meetings, diagnostic tests and a million other things, all queued up and printed from a computer for me each day. It is the most overwhelming thing you would ever do, especially by yourself, and on top of all that, you're newly adjusting to the idea that your life may just be... well... over. I kept going and didn't dare stop to take a breath.
Day 3 of the MD Anderson Experience, Jeff showed up at the hospital. At the time, I was about to have a bone marrow biopsy, one of medicine's most painful procedures. It was then that I finally took a moment to have a complete emotional breakdown. Lucky him, eh? He had brought me a big stuffed bear, which I held tight all afternoon.
I was in Houston a lot from November through April, doing the chemo/radiation thing. If I was there over a weekend, Jeff usually came down. Otherwise I was in College Station, going to classes and trying to maintain some semblance of normal student life.
During those months, I was very ill from treatment, with everything from radiation burns in my throat and on my skin, to terrible pain in my arms as a side effect of one of my meds, to tossing my cookies every couple of hours for weeks on end. When I was at school, he was there for me, to do whatever needed doing. He cooked a gajillion bowls of rice, when that was all I could keep down for two months. I was a fixture at his apartment, and his roommate, a great friend and a stellar human being, was a sweetheart to put up with me as well.
Around March, Jeff and I, two very logically-minded engineering majors, had a pragmatic discussion about our post-college dating scenarios. It would soon be decision time, because he was leaving College Station to work and I was likely headed to grad school. We knew we were either in a good place to make a commitment or we should just go our separate ways. A long-distance relationship at that point just wouldn't make sense.
We discussed every sticky detail. Were our rekindled feelings brought about by my medical situation, and his feeling needed and my feeling like I needed someone? My experimental treatment was supposed to mean I would be able to have kids, but there were no guarantees. Would that be something he wanted to deal with? We talked about where we would live and if our future plans could coexist, because my job opportunities would likely be out-of-state and he was headed to Austin. I also made up my mind not to make any commitments before being declared cancer-free.
In May, when I was officially in remission, we had another chat- kind of a "So, should we get married or what?" sort of deal. The last thing either of us wanted at that time was to stop seeing each other. We planned a wedding date in a year, when I would be finished with my Master's degree. Not that I didn't get a big, romantic "Will you marry me?" We faked a proposal at a club where he gave me my ring. No free drinks out of it, but the cocktail waitress and bartender were excited. I was pretty excited, too...
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