out and home

Pastor Kim arrived with near-Swiss precision at noon today. His visit with Mom lasted almost exactly an hour before we had to leave for Mom's therapy. Therapy itself went quickly-- Mom was in and out. Dad and I are starting to get to know the people whom we see in the waiting room nearly every day, including the very nice lady who speaks French with me when she sees me (her husband was French; she speaks fluent French and describes herself culturally as moitié-moitié, or "half-and-half" French and American). Dad has apparently been talking about the family while I've been busy parking the car: over the past few days, strangers in the waiting room have asked me about my trans-American walk, life in Korea, etc. I imagine these good folks would have questions for David and Sean, if they had the chance to meet my brothers.

So today's Mom-related agenda was done in a flash. Dad's out shopping for food and picking up the most recent MRI data; Sean's here, watching over Mom, who needs constant surveillance these days thanks to her wandering hands and strange compulsions (she tried eating a paper napkin a few minutes ago).

About those compulsions... as always, I've tried to strike a balance between (1) providing information about our family to Mom's relatives, friends, and acquaintances, and (2) protecting Mom's privacy and dignity. However, the blog also serves as an outlet for me, and I try to report what's going on as thoroughly as possible; in other words, you, Dear Reader, need to be prepared to encounter increasingly uncomfortable material on this blog as Mom's cancer progresses. I'm sorry, but Mother Nature is dictating much of this, and it will be more and more difficult for me to blog euphemistically or in the abstract. I've already preserved the reader from several bits of unpleasantness, but I can't guarantee that subsequent entries will be so sanitized. Ask yourself if you're ready for this. If you aren't-- if you have trouble witnessing struggle and pain, if you're the sensitive type who can stand only a limited amount of anguish-- then for your own sake, please turn away. I won't mind.


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