Bad News: Brain cancer exploded

We knew this day would come, but at the same time no matter how much I’ve tried to prepare it doesn’t help. On the mildly funny side this morning I launched myself into the breakfast room wall and cut my head  Laura Esserman ended up sewing me up! Rugo said the MRI showed that the cancer lesions in the cerebellum in particular exploded into the 100s

So it is hard for them to put a date aroundit but it could be 1-3 months. My goal is Halloween then thanksgiving then Christmas then little dix bay reopen  .  Nothing makes leaving kids and Creighton and family and dear friends. Nothing.  So one day at a time from now on.

I was fine when I got to Martha’s Vineyard, but quickly noticed weakness in my thighs and increasing neuropathy or numbness in hands go fingers and feet .ugh!!!  stumble a lot now and am very uncoordinated. So finally the cerebellum explained that rapid decline. I’m going to fight with drugs until compassionate care makes more sense and who knows, maybe that will extend my time. The kids were amazing although we all cried.  Sleeping well and good energy . As usual we are so thankful for love and support. PleAse be patient with us as we navigate insane time. Much love ❤️ no matter what it has been one hell of a life and I’m proud of the legacy I leave and theSe fabulous kids..IMG_5547.JPG

 

5 thoughts on “Bad News: Brain cancer exploded

  1. Words can’t begin to describe what an inspiration you are to all of us and your fighting spirit is nothing short of extraordinary. We are with you every step of the way, you don’t walk alone. As much as it pains me to write this, we will be there for your family regardless of outcome. One day at a time….

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  2. Kerry, seeing you and your beautiful family in Boston was a highlight of our summer. Yes, be so proud of Will and Bebe, they are delightful and amazing! Children learn what they live and you and Creighton set a powerful example of all that is good and important. Please be so proud of yourself for the courage, strength, grace, grit, and good humor which you bring to battling this s.o.b. disease. We are praying for you and send our love and strength. Laura

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  3. Darling girl

    Simon forwards me your blogs, I’m a bottle of rosé in – I know you’d approve! (the family are asleep) and I just wanted to drop you a line.

    We are on holiday in Corsica, we sat on a beach this afternoon and simon told me to read Kerry’s email.

    Up to that point we’d had a very nice time. After reading your mail, I realise we are having a totally exceptional time. We should never take the little things for granted as you have taught us.

    Thank you for your wisdom and for being you! So sad we are so far away as we’d be there like a shot.

    I remember you so so well at our wedding, you were AWESOME that day.

    Anyway, being slightly drunk & emotional (can’t sleep due to horrific 80s French disco somewhere nearby). But just want to say that we’re thinking of you all and sending HUGE amounts of love from across the pond…

    Phillipa (and snoring Simon) & the boys xxxxx

    Sent from my iPhone

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  4. Kerry – I wrote this for my father-in-law in 2005. It’s reflective of a younger self. He was one of the most important people in my life, and I didn’t know how to cope when he died. But I hope it gives you an image of tears-waves-Shakespeare-courage. Those tears that streak down your cheeks are love made physical. I love you! ~Kristine

    Medford Ophelia

    I want to lie on my bed
    And cry all of my saline filled globes,
    Drop them on my face until it’s soaking and
    I begin to rise,
    On the surface of the tears,
    Flowing and filling the room,
    Mixing with slices of light.
    A crack beneath the door
    Now sealed with wax stitches.
    The borders watertight.

    I would float up on the salt
    Not having to arch my spine or kick my feet to stay afloat
    I would feel all the pain
    Then all of the baptisms of a thousand children,
    I would gaze through the sky light
    At the trees coming into their green trim,
    the clouds without water, just accumulated wisps.
    My bed is below, on the bottom of this small sea,
    I blow bubbles and laugh at one of his jokes.
    I try to forget how we looked down on his face, so full of fluids, ballooning his jowls,
    And how the tubes of saline entered his veins
    A vain attempt at nourishment?

    Now, atop the tears,
    I hear the lapping of small waves on the shore of this inland sea
    A seagull flies over this house, turns and alights at the ledge,
    Unfastens the window, so that the water falls to the street
    An arc of colors appears, I am swept out, an Ophelia in Medford,
    Proceeding past the homes in a gentle river toward the Mystic.
    There are other people too, robed and calm, their hands folded on their chests, long hair and beards singing for the sea, a line of bodies washing out to the ocean, past the parked cars, past the jaunty red snow shovels, trash cans, shooting daffodil blooms and a tricycle.
    Am I dying slowly or just seeing anew?

    Each day lengthens, the sun is gaining shine,
    We are treading among swells
    A kind of living, but less aware, with glassy faces and airy, stinging thorns,
    Like steel sharp dew on our skin.
    I look to find the others,
    How are we to make it back to our homes, our cars, the shovels and the beds?
    The light of the sky drying up the water that must still be there.
    Surely we will die of cold or drown?

    But I don’t find those tranquil robed priests,
    I don’t find the memory of the day that swollen tides took me to this new place,
    I begin to forget how to swim.
    I try to recall survival tactics —
    Do I keep my feet and knees moving in concentric circles,
    Or fold into a womb, breathing but not at every breath?

    While waiting for my rescue, I become frantic.
    Then, I forget what a rescue looks like.
    I refuse the line, I cannot see the buoys,
    Though I am buoyed, my face burning in the sun.

    I am afloat and that may be enough.
    And oh how good that ray of starlight can really feel.

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