Damn.

So, for awhile now, Neil's brother Paul has suffered from this inexplicable itch. He's up nights, taken trillions of tests, listened to docs say "It's probably your liver," "It's the weather--try Florida," "It could be anything." In response, Paul's had his liver tested. He went to Florida for a week with his fantabulous wife Stacy to see if he felt better. He did hours of research online to see all the things it could be.

If it were me, I'd be screaming. I'd be bitching. I'd stomp my feet and stay in that office until they ran every test in the book to stop the infernal itching. It makes ME itch, just thinking about HIS itch. (See? Aren't you a little itchy?)

Okay, so Paul's itchy most of the day. It's a testament to him that when we visited last month, I didn't even notice. What kind of self-control must he have to not itch when he itches?

Anyway--after the Florida trip (which was pleasant, but not miraculous), Paul and Papa (the Dazet Dad) turned to the internet. They scoured sites, looking for all of Paul's symptoms, knowing that if THEY didn't do it, no one would. (I am certainly not a fan of docs after my mom's constant misdiagnoses, however much I abhor the scare tactics used by people on the internet looking to victimize folks who have diseases.) Papa and Paul agreed that, given Paul's symptoms, Hodgkin's Disease was the best match. (I mean, it's not the best thing ever...just matched what they were seeking.) Paul was so excited to find the source of the itch, and wanted to get tested right away. Luckily, his doctor was impressed with his findings, and scheduled Paul a visit with the oncologist.

(I HATE these words. I hate them. I hate that I can't control my tears even seeing the word "oncologist.")

At this point, we were all pretty relieved that Paul might be on the road to wellness and relief--after all, Hodgkin's is treatable, and Paul and Papa might have caught something that the doctors couldn't figure out.

But it's still cancer. And it still makes me cry like a baby. Big heaving sobs that make me cover my whole face in an effort to control them.

I was okay, though. Neil was worried, but I was strangely confident...I knew that IF the test showed up positive for Hodgkin's, Paul would be fine, and his uncomfortable nightmare would be over soon.

It was still a big, huge punch to the gut when Neil called the other morning to say that Paul's first tests showed tumors in his neck and chest.

Next is "staging the cancer," (which sounds fun, until you realize it isn't at all like a splashy musical) then a biopsy. I am torn between wanting to do research myself (on a librarian-approved med site, of course), or remaining in ignorance.

I know I am not the only one who has gone through this. I know I was one of the lucky ones who have been a part of this awful thing--I didn't see Mama die slowly. She was healthy and fun and happy and sassy and hopeful right up until the last month or so, and even then, she was never despondent or regretful. I loved seeing her like that...I mean, it was the hardest time in my life, ever, but I loved that she, to borrow a line, went gracefully into that good night, and wasn't scared. THAT is how I remember her.

I don't believe this will be an easy road for Paul, his wife, his adorable children, his brothers, his parents, his congregation, his hundreds of close friends...any of us. But I DO believe he'll come out just fine in the end, itch-free and goofy as ever. And I know I'll get that confidence back.



This week, though, it's hard.