We Band of Brothers

We have a new plan. We’ve decided to fight.

These were the words I was met with this weekend. These words and a hug that I can still feel this morning.

The trip to Kansas City was a long one, and I was distracted and edgy. I was worried that I would immediately burst into tears and collapse on the bed. I was worried about what Chris would look like. I was worried about how Cindy would be feeling. I had no idea how to wrap my head around the situation that was awaiting me. Is this goodbye? How do you prepare to spend a weekend with people you love with more than your whole heart, and know what it really is? There’s no way to know. There’s no way to understand or to dig into your wheel house and use the tools you have…they don’t exist at this point. So. I just prayed.  For strength. For the words. For the actions. For the tools.

We have a new plan. We’re going to fight.

Well ok. That’s the thread I needed to hold onto. That’s the crumb that would lead me back onto the trail and take us to a better place. Ok. Fighting. We can do that. We know how to be bull headed and stubborn. We know how to be thinkers and to move outside the box when needed. We know how to embrace plans that look like chaos and to decipher thoughts that sound like noise. This particular wheel house is full. Chock full of tools. We can do this. Let’s figure out how.

Reversing liver damage sounds like an episode of House. Made up Hollywood magic. But it happens. Cases upon cases have been reported, have been recorded. There is proof.  The internet is full of scenario upon scenario. People awaiting transplants who are now running marathons. Complete reversal of cirrosis. Why should we believe it will happen for us? Why shouldn’t we?

We have a new plan. We’ve decided to fight.

Both nights, as we were piled up in the big bed, Chris laying there with his eyes closed talking, and snarking, and holding court as he navigated the waves of pain that would sneak up on him, I thought “this bed holds so much love”. Amy had been there the week before. Traci had been there before that. We had all piled on and just been present, giving love, holding hands. Tiptoeing through this strange new world we find ourselves living in. Together. Together.

We have a new plan. We’ve decided to fight.

There were moments when I worried that our will was stronger than Chris’. That this thing we’ve decided was going to be too hard, too much. That it just wasn’t going to happen. There were brief moments of raw fear that were masked as anger and impatience and frustration at all of it…what if We want this more than He does. It’s a valid fear. One that is based in the most dark, bottom dwelling murkiness of fears. I saw it on Cindy’s face in moments, and I saw it in Chris’. And then we laughed. About something. About anything. And that’s when I thought…man. Pull through this baby, and we will make it worth your while. I promise. I promise you.

We have a new plan. We’ve decided to fight.

This day is call’d the feast of Crispian. He that outlives this day, and comes safe home, Will stand a tip-toe when this day is nam’d, And rouse him at the name of Crispian. He that shall live this day, and see old age, Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbours, And say “To-morrow is Saint Crispian.” Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars, And say “These wounds I had on Crispian’s day.” Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot, But he’ll remember, with advantages, What feats he did that day. Then shall our names, Familiar in his mouth as household words- Harry the King, Bedford and Exeter, Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloucester- Be in their flowing cups freshly rememb’red. This story shall the good man teach his son; And Crispin Crispian shall ne’er go by, From this day to the ending of the world, But we in it shall be remembered- We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother; be he ne’er so vile, This day shall gentle his condition; And gentlemen in England now-a-bed Shall think themselves accurs’d they were not here, And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks That fought with us upon Saint Crispin’s day.

Join us, won’t you? You don’t need to be in crazy great shape to be on this team. No boxing skills necessary, no running necessary, no Sons of Anarchy gun thrashings necessary. We just need your power. Your thoughts. Your prayers. Your energy. Focused on reversing this liver damage. Each thought between thought. Each moment between moment.

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers…

We have a new plan. We’ve decided to fight.