We're in this chaotic, frenetic, survivalist pace of our lives right now and it feels like the merry-go-round is about to throw an axle from all the speed.
I wish there was a way to put all these worries on a shelf and dust them off when I have time for them. But, truthfully, there would never be time for them.
We keep spinning around, and I'm beginning to wonder how much longer all this will go on. How long will we be wondering what is happening to Kris? How long will I feel this know in my stomach about his health? How long will it be before Dani realizes not everyone's daddy goes to the doctor as much as hers? Not everyone's daddy gets tired so easily?
How many more fucking doctor's visits will I sit through and how many more medical journals will I sift through, looking for answers?
I'd love to say that we're enjoying every moment we have together, but we're all stressed and tired and ready for some answers, already.
It's hard not to scream at the doctors-- "ENOUGH! Enough with the vague diagnoses, enough with the condescension. Enough with waiting months for test results that should take days. enough with making it a full-time job to track your ass down for a simple answer. ENOUGH! Do your goddamn job and figure out what's wrong."
Because, dear doctors, all your ass-covering, your hemming and hawing, your inability to or lack of desire to dive in and help us is wearing me down until I am less than enough. I am exhausted. I am scared. I am frustrated to the point of tears and I am spending precious energy trying not to think about what life would be like without Kris in it.
That being said, do not mistake my exhaustion for defeat or my fear for cowardice. I'm still here. We're still here. We're still fighting. Though our minds and muscles may protest under the physical and emotional strain of endless MRIs, bloodwork, scheduling, and exams, understand that we will never give up fighting for Kris. In the meantime, I'm going to read this, every morning to keep me reminded of how truly, sharply, beautiful life can be.
Because dear doctors, as my dad and General Patton used to say, "Lead, follow, or get the fuck out of the way." Your choice.