Is that you never have any idea what anything means. You tend to stare at the person with cancer, sometimes, as if they are a science experiment. Like what the hell is happening now?

Michael had a craniotomy in September for his brain biopsy. And the scar remained but his hair started to grow over it. And then I noticed, this week, that the area where he had that is collapsing inward. I thought I was crazy. It couldn’t possibly be that. And then the hospice nurse mentioned it to me. So yes it was.

And what does that mean?

And he started to rebound from his really rough week and then he had a headache.

And what does that mean?

And he wasn’t talking much and when he started to talk it was in a whisper. Then all of a sudden it seemed as if he was shouting.

And what does that mean?

And he would pause before he’d say anything.

And what does that mean?

And then he would just intermittently start shaking.

And what does that mean

I flutter about and stare at a group of symptoms and signs and try to figure out what it all means.

When Michael was well he used to roll his eyes when I talked to animals or kids in a baby voice. Like he was annoyed but he always had a smile on his face. His tough Harley persona had to roll his eyes but his squoofie persona that I loved thought it was funny.

Tonight I said to him, in that voice, “Are you cold hunny bunny? We’ll make you comfy cozy hunny bunny….here I come with the binket.”

And he rolled his eyes and smiled at the same time. Even gave a small laugh.

All of a sudden he wasn’t a bunch of signs and symptoms. He was my hunny again.

And I knew what that meant.