High Tides, Rough Waves

It started with a rough night. 3 a.m., Wednesday morning. Kara wakes up singing "TV6 Cares for You!" I tell her it’s too early to wake Mom up, so we stretch, and I curl up next to her, hoping we can fall back asleep. She makes it until 4:30 a.m. and climbs out of bed.

I’ve probably said this before, but Kara never complains about pain. I can count on one hand how many times we’ve given her OTC pain meds in her entire life. She’s always been this way—a puzzle. It’s made me hypervigilant, always reading her every move, every expression. And on Wednesday, her discomfort was so obvious. But what was it? Cancer symptoms? Stomach bug? A virus? Something else?

We call the doctor for advice. They suggest starting with Advil.

Despite everything, she insists on going on a road trip with Dad and her Buddy Bill to Myakka State Park. She powers through the day while I lay tensed up on the beach, trying to read, doing some box breathing, but I'm unable to relax. She comes back cheerful, ready for a cheeseburger. I exhale, relieved she had a good day. Another dose of Advil before bed, and we call it a night.

• 1:28 a.m. She’s awake again. I ignore her, thinking maybe my attention is keeping her from falling back asleep.

• 2:30 a.m. She gets up to go to the bathroom.

• 4:00 a.m. She grabs her phone and heads to the kitchen. Another round of Advil, hoping for a better day ahead.

Then she throws up. Projectile vomits all over me.

I tell her I love her anyway and not to worry. I wipe her mouth as she giggles, and proclaims with a big smile: “That medicine is not working!” Then she looks at me and asks, “What are you going to do about it?” I assure her we’ll get new meds from the doctor. Despite being sick, she still wants to put on her swimsuit—she has a beach day planned, after all.

But when 9:30 a.m. hits, she starts sobbing. And that’s when I know.

Kara never cries. Not like this. We’ve been through stomach bugs and viruses before. This isn’t that. This is cancer.

The oncologist moves quickly to call in pain meds, and thanks to our friend Ashlee’s advice, we request Zofran for nausea too. I rush out to pick up meds, a COVID & flu test, and a Subway sandwich—desperate to get something in her stomach.

The Zofran works fast. Thank God.

Her COVID and flu tests are negative, and the pain meds seem to settle her, finally. She sleeps most of the day, and I book us a flight home. No way I’m making her endure a long road trip back.

---

2:30 a.m., Friday. I wake up to her coughing.

I leap out of bed, hurdle over her bed, and grab the garbage can from the bathroom. (Amazing what our bodies can do in unconscious states.) She throws up a little, then looks up at me with a sleepy smile and says:

"Happy Friday… we made it through the week."

Oh. My. Heart.

I give her meds, and we actually fall back asleep until 7 a.m. Calling that a win.

She’s still weak, still dozing off most of the day. But when her friends come to say goodbye, she perks up a bit. Her appetite returns, and for dinner, she chooses Five Guys and eats the whole burger. I’ll take it. Any little sign of happy, I will take.

---

It’s been a hard few days watching Kara suffer, and extra salt in the wound to see our beach chairs sitting empty in the sand. I really thought we'd have more beach time together. She’s been doing so well—this wave of pain and exhaustion caught us all off guard.

But she’s still happy it’s Friday. She’s still talking about how beautiful the day is.

And I agree. Because every day with her is beautiful. It doesn’t matter what’s outside our window, what else I could be doing—I would choose to spend every minute with her, every single damn time.

Tomorrow, we head a few hours north to visit Uncle Don and Aunt Carol. I’m praying Kara feels strong enough to manage the day. More than anything, I’m praying we have the strength to get through the flight home Sunday, get her back into her own bed, and that Mom and Dad have a safe drive back to Iowa.

I know so many of you have been keeping us in your prayers. If you could wrap us in a few extra ones this weekend, we could really use them. 💛