Recently, while watching TV with my husband, he mentioned he’d had an appointment with his neurologist earlier that day. He then announced that he was the same or better. “Better.” That word seemed to echo off every wall in our house. And then I barraged him with questions at warp speed, of course.
How could my heart not leap at that? And then he said it: “It was just the time of day. You have good days and bad days.” Way to bring the house down, Khoren.
I feel that way about hope: Sometimes I have it and sometimes it starts to fade. Believe me, I think hope is powerful, so I try to hang on to it. But Khoren doesn’t really have hope at all. I say that because that’s what he tells me. I’m not criticizing him or feeling sorry for him. He simply doesn’t believe in it.
He’s tried various disease-modifying therapies, chemotherapy and acupuncture. But when I start reading about CCSVI and diets that are largely comprised of organ meat (ick) — options that some with MS say work for them — I become intrigued. I want him to consider them, but he doesn’t. He’s afraid of disappointment. This I know to be true. So to avoid that, he avoids hope. I don’t know if that’s good or bad. We talk about it and I see his perspective. I can’t imagine how I would be if I took his place. I get lost in thought.
I don’t know what we were watching at the time. But someone said, “I fall down and I get back up.” He looked at me and smiled, and said, “See? That’s what I do.” Maybe that’s enough.