And Now I know

-a study in Docuprose Nonfiction using Facebook posts

December 9, 2009; 4:44 p.m.
Jami Williams is leaving to take her brother to Boone Hospital where they are going to admit him. He won't eat, says stomach feels full all the time, preliminary blood tests at Macon Hosp. show low, low, low red count and he is so weak he can hardly walk...had to use a cane this morning. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE lift him up in prayer. He doesn't understand being sick and they are going to test him like a guinea pig all day tomorrow.

And now I know that a severely low red blood cell count is an indicator of cancer.

December 9, 2009; 11:50 p.m.
Update on John: he keeps asking me if he made the right decision and if he's going to live through this. They gave him something to help relax him. Mom is staying with him tonight. They are doing all kinds of "passive" tests tonight. Going tomorrow morning to discuss results of tests and make a decision about invasive testing. Temp at 102.2 when we arrived. Thanks for prayers...please keep them coming.

And now I know that it would only be five years before I would be staying with Mom in the same hospital for the same reason.

December 10, 2009; 11:01 a.m.
JOHN UPDATE: his color is better this morning, but had a rough night; letting him have jello, tea, broth and other fluids. I don't think Mom got any sleep... John still has IV but it is starting to "bother" him/make him anxious. Still asking us to reassure him that he did the right thing...is it wrong to pray for God to lift the illness off him and put it on me? Then at least it would be fair.

And now I know there is no such thing as fair, there is only the decision to accept God’s grace and mercy and allow the lesson to be learned, or to struggle through the same test for the rest of your life.

December 10, 2009; 1:54 p.m.
Notes from room 2026: They will be giving my brother this magical potion called Go Lightly which will in fact make my brother go quickly and with lots of...uh...zest. Colonoscopy tomorrow morning...my brother is mortified, terrified, and as nervous as I've ever seen him; now accepting all prayers for peace and rest.

And now I know the power of prayer… and the power of Go Lightly.

December 10, 2009; 10:39 p.m.
We gave up on the Go Lightly today. John’s anxiety is at an all time high and I am afraid he will panic and rip the IV out of his arm and try to leave. We took Mom home to let her get some rest. It is strange to say that I feel there is nothing left to do now but pray that we can get him to drink the stuff; I should have been praying all along. 

And now I know the regret that comes with arrogance.

December 11, 2009: 11:02 a.m.
At the hospital with my brother; very rough night, they are giving him the Go Lightly stuff but it is not cleaning him out like it should and they won't do the scope until he is cleaned out. He's getting VERY discouraged, very frustrated, and VERY skinny. E-cards are sooo very welcome - just log on to the Boone Hospital Center website and they will deliver them to his room - you should see his eyes light up!

And now I know that strength can come in the form of other people remembering you.

December 11, 2009: 1:32 p.m.
JOHN UPDATE: You don't EVEN want to know about the last two hours but let’s just say everything "came out" okay. I forced John into the bathroom and sat outside and made him take a drink every five minutes while sitting on the stool. We ended up laughing about it once we got through it. They are taking him to do the colonoscopy at 2 p.m. and will also do endoscopy and sigmoidoscopy at the same time. Will post results. Thanks so much for all the cards you've sent; he has them all over his hospital room and feels so important when the volunteer comes in waving another one. Keep them coming!

And now I know that I am my brother’s person and he is mine.

December 11, 2009; 5:21 p.m.
Colonoscopy showed a "mass" or "tumor" in a location the doctor called "very difficult to operate." They biopsied it, results back on Tuesday. We've already met with the oncologist and John will start a four-month course of chemotherapy Christmas week. CT scan tonight to determine the stage and type. Oncologist believes it is one of two types of cancer.

And now I know that we are never safe, no matter how innocent we may be.

December 12, 2009; 8:38 a.m.
CT scan done last night...PET scan today. One of the surgeons has officially called it rectal cancer. John is tired and weak. Mom is tired and weak. I am so angry I can't stand it. Thanks to all who are praying for us. It looks to be a long road ahead, but are desperately sinking our teeth into faith and hope.

And now I know the name of the monster.

December 12, 2009; 11:52 a.m.
John gets to go home today...nothing they can do until scheduling for individual docs open next week. John is ready to go home, wants nothing more than to go home, in fact. Thursday we go to the oncologist then the next week chemo starts. I know there's stuff to do, I just don't know what it is right now or where to start. Thank you for all the prayers, cards, visits, etc. It truly means the world to John.

And now I know the deeply-rooted healing power of home.

December 12, 2009: 6:26 p.m.
I am angry and tired, but mostly angry and confused and angry...I might be a little mad, too. Yup, pretty sure I'm mad and angry.

And now I know that anger is useless.

December 13, 2009: 9:03 p.m.
I am fixin' to erase all the stuff on my iPod and reload it with music for my brother so he can use it during his chemo...taking all suggestions for encouraging, ready-to-go-to-the-ring songs!

And now I know a servant’s heart.

December 13, 2009; 9:46 p.m.
Hey all you Shelbyville-dwellers! Two of my dear friends from college dropped an entire Christmas tree off on Mom and John's porch in hopes that folks would come by and decorate the tree with their notes of get-well and well-wishes. So, when you get a chance, run up on the porch and stick something encouraging on the tree...We're really trying to keep his spirits up!

And now I know the power of community.

December 15, 2009; 10:29 p.m.
I am exhausted and scared and down on my knees for a miracle. My brother...how amazing and strong and brave can one person be when they are so undeserving of the hand dealt them?

And now I know a genuine hero.

December 18, 2009; 9:52 a.m.
Rectal cancer...what a pain in the butt! I'm trying to think of funny things to put on t-shirts...do you think it would be bad if I put "fight like a butthole" on one????

And now I know the power of humor.

December 21, 2009; 9:21 a.m.
I just can't today...just can't.

And now I know that I can, because I must.

December 22, 2009; 12:56 p.m.
is beginning to wonder if life is just one big waiting room...seriously.

And now I know that life is one big waiting room, but only if you agree to wait.

December 25, 2009: 11:53 p.m.
Christmas tree down and put away, all signs of Christmas in our house have disappeared. It was very therapeutic to do it...a subliminal reminder of what's to come in the weeks ahead...back to the business of living, learning and coping.

And now I know exhaustion doesn’t last forever.

December 26, 2009: 9:16 p.m.
Took Mom's Christmas tree down today...took almost two hours to get to the Shelbyville and two hours to get home...John was in good spirits today, had a couple of visitors, broke in his new netbook and is SO excited about the big shindig next weekend he can hardly stand it! He's already started resting up!

And now I know the warmest hearts.

December 28, 2009; 8:39 a.m.
I think of all the times I wanted to shoot my brother in the butt with a laser gun when I was a kid; and now that he is going to get shot with that laser gun, I'd give anything to be able to take his place. Radiation starts today, please pray for my family.

And now I know the power of hope.

December 29, 2009; 5 p.m
My brother's chemo medication is called Xeloda (Zee-low-duh) so I'm going to make a t-shirt that says "MY BROTHER IS ALWAYS GETTING xeLOADED!" I am so freakin' funny I could just cry!

And now I know that laughter through tears really is the best feeling.

December 30, 2009; 10:06 a.m.
I love the smell of chemo in the morning...it smells like...VICTORY!

And now I know the intoxication of determination.

December 31, 2009; 2:17 p.m.
I wonder if it is possible for us to have just one normal holiday without an explosion, a crisis or a meltdown of some sort...we need some sort of celebration intervention or rehabilitation. SERIOUSLY...NO...SERIOUSLY!

And now know what is required for me to become the worst possible version of myself.

January 2, 2010; 1:02 a.m.
I am realizing there is a fine line between optimistic faith and blatant, walk-into-the-brick-wall stupidity. I have no idea what side of the line I am on at this point... ouch... ouch... ouch... ouch... ouch...

And now I know the feeling of admitting defeat, dipping down into the worst parts of myself, and trying to find the courage to give up.

January 2, 2010; 8:25 a.m.
We are fixin' to pack up the family and head up to Shelbyville for a Clean Sweep afternoon with Mom to get everything organized, hopefully supper at Willey's (Brad's steak.... mmmm), and then a family campout at the No-Tell motel in Shelbina. BENEFIT TOMORROW FOR JOHN - Cannot wait!

And now know the value of a brave face.

January 2, 2010; 8:56 p.m.
We had fun with Mom and John...Willey's closed (stifled sob) so Casey's taco pizza... organized for Mom, picked up a bit for John, back at the No-Tell for a famp-out (family campout). Kyser wanted to know as we went through Paris, Missouri, on the way here if people who live there are "Paris-ites". I told him yes...WHOOOOOO HOOOOOO FOR TOMORROW!

And now I know that perspective is a blessing.

January 3, 2010; 8:03 p.m.
I now know what it feels like to be hugged by more than 600 people at once...thank you all so much for coming out to support my brother. He was tired, but it was the first GOOD tired he has had in a long time! YOU GUYS TOTALLY ROCK!

And now I know that you truly cannot thank people enough for their kindnesses.

January 6, 2010; 7:35 p.m.
I am completely amazed and humbled, yet again, and I finally get it, FINALLY. Sometimes there must be an exchange, an intangible exchange, that hurts one person but uplifts and comforts another.

And now I know that there is a reason.

January 13, 2010; 9:56 p.m.
We just passed the longest two and a half weeks of our life as a family... here's hoping the remaining two and a half weeks pass like a redneck on a dirt road...hang in there, John, we are hopefully on the downhill side.

And now I know that patience is a virtue that I do not have.

February 2, 2010; 11:06 p.m.
So happy that John is DONE with radiation... a few more days of chemo and he'll be through with that too...big pow wow with the ONC on Monday... who knew I could speak "cancer?”

And now I know the power of webmd.com.

March 31, 2010; 10:03 p.m.
So today I tried to loosely explain to my fifth graders what type of cancer my brother has and explain without explaining what his surgery will involve. One of them, throughout the day stopped in my room to tell me he was thinking about my brother and hoping his "rectile" surgery went well. I didn't correct him for two reasons: a) it was just easier not to and 3) it was kinda funny...

And now I know that work is sometimes a refuge.

April 1, 2010; 8:15 a.m.
Hanging out at the hospital waiting room - John is back in prep and they are getting ready to hit him with the epidural. Mom's about to pass out... it's kinda funny.

And now I know that having a weakness doesn’t make a person weak.

April 1, 2010; 8:53 p.m.
John came through the surgery well – the ostomy is irreversible due to the size and nature of the tumor, so John will have to have a colostomy for the rest of his life; Mom is devastated and scared; we have no experience with this at all and I worry that John won’t be able to properly care for himself and that Mom will not be able to handle it, nor should she have to. We are considering every option, writing them down and weighing them. I have never been so weary of everything...

And now I know fear, full-fledged fear. 

April 2, 2010; 4:09 p.m.
John had his surgery yesterday and he is going to be here for a while; our friends, Terry and Renee, brought their camper up here and parked it for us so we could stay up here and be with John as much as possible. There is not a storage compartment in this camper big enough to stuff a seven year old in for very long... I mean without all the knocking and kicking and screaming...

And now I know that cancer is a family illness, not just relegated to the one with the diagnosis.

April 3, 2010; 8:54 p.m.
Christmas in the hospital, now Easter in the hospital. We're hoping for a Fourth of July on an outpatient basis...

And now I know that life is not life and death, that living is not in the big moments. Living is in the interim, the quiet of an afternoon spent beside the lake with a fishing pole. Living is in being surprised by people instead of being shocked by them. Living is the thing that we try so hard to get right that we miss the wonderful joy that can somehow come from getting it all wrong. Living is not permanent, but life is not terminal. 

And now I know it all.

Jami Hunt-Williams is a graduate of Lindenwood University with an MFA in writing. Her publication credits include Crack the Spine, Wingless Dreamers, and the Sad Girls Lit Club. She teaches English, Journalism, and Publications at Mexico High School in Mexico, MO, where she makes her home with her husband, son, and brother.