"It's not a story" • The coping journey from the moment the cancer was discovered

There is nothing like my Haifa. A walk through the shady streets of Carmel. Aerobic activity of climbs and some more climbs. Walks of stairs that have seen better days, connecting streets. Favorite routine activity. fromA girl from Haifa For the mother and grandmother who takes everyone to meet Razi Carmel.
• On the occasion of the International Blood Cancer Awareness Week.

day and day Little by little, at a slow crawl the ascent became heavier. "You've had a busy day today" I heard you My inner voice Explains and explains the phenomenon.

Day after day, the beloved stairway forces you to stop, seemingly to observe the spectacular view that unfolded before you. "Are you tired?" The voice continues to ask me. I have an answer to every question: "I haven't climbed stairs in a long time, I have to get back in shape."

The breathing became heavier. And I, who don't visit doctors, give in and go to the family doctor. "Inhale and that's it," he orders me. "But persevere!" From him to the lung specialists: "You have asthma, your lung functions are not normal." From inhaler to inhaler it was the turn of the deeper tests: CT lungs.
The street walks of went further and further away. The suffocation was overwhelming.

Tuesday morning, the pilates clothes and the pool bag are packed.
I manage to "engineer" you, my dear husband. "Yossi, I'm going out for water gymnastics, I'll be back as usual," I said without blinking, without my voice shaking. On our green and shady street, a friend was waiting for me, ready to accompany me to the hospital for the day. Her face is gray, a forced smile on her lips (that's how it is when there are female friends). "Good morning, a day of recreation as much as possible" she said, half-humoredly.

For the first time in decades I am in the hospital for me. apparently prepared for such an inspection.
I read about it, I researched about the specialist doctor for this test, I took a deep breath and accepted the law of the admission processes, the organization for the test. The environment of the green robes, the multicultural environment with the abundance of languages ​​around me. My eyes lock into hers, she returns a look of hug and love, takes my things for a short shift and we say goodbye.

At four o'clock, with my sports bag on my shoulder, I showed up at home.
As usual you ask: "How was it in the pool?", What did you manage to do in ceramics?, What came out of the oven?" Questions of the Tuesday routine.
As usual, I find an answer to every question. Very hungry, prepares us a light meal.

The brain is drilling, the thoughts are scattered and converged and I make a final decision: 
Only when there are certain results in each direction, I will share with you and the boys! 
After all, a new granddaughter will be born to us in a moment, I won't bother!
You are so not at your best, I will add no sorrow! 
Elon moved only to have a medical procedure and he is suffering so much, how can I help him?
Safe on the way, expecting an answer every day.

Breathing is heavy. The eyes are tired. Worry is gnawing.
The phone rings: "Mom, we're going into the delivery room, waiting for you".
I start the car, drive fast, carefully, mobilized to arrive safely, park on the sidewalk. Closest to the hospital entrance. How will I walk a long distance? Even in the hospital it is a complete march.
You enter the delivery room and hear from the most beautiful midwife: "Hannah, I've been waiting for you, I won't give birth without you". 
gives strength, takes breaths, drinks water, hugs, supports shoulder, caresses, wipes face, encourages
"In a little while she's out, in a little while", I herald.
The baby's voices melted the pockets of tears. Not giving up on photographing the moments of happiness. For documenting such great joy, such deep distress.
A new baby for a slightly different grandmother. 
A grandmother whose lifestyle will change, who doesn't know what the coming period will bring, spending time and taking care of her grandson is a big loss. A grandmother whose breathing is heavy on her. 

Hours of joy, hours of waiting for the test results, standing on stage, with the smile of an experienced actress. The doctor called, we went to get the answer. The familiar professor looked down, searched and checked his words. Tried to wriggle with fragility that wouldn't hurt a soul. 
I don't remember his words. I only remember the words: "From here you continue in the hematology department", and also remembers the word: Chemotherapy.
I looked straight, asked a little, acknowledged the test and we left. 
We got into the car slowly and carefully and so did the driving.
Do not shake the vehicle. Elon, who had surgery just a week ago, insisted on coming with me, still in pain.
How do you tell the father, who has not yet recovered from hospitalization?
How do you tell a brother who returned home with a baby girl?
this is! The news is with us! From here, a new and unknown path is at our door.

We came back home, got together. I entered the study. I sat down in front of you and told.
I knew little and recited: I have blood cancer, lymphoma. I will have to undergo a bone marrow test to get more accurate information. And that's it.
Tears, choking, words that failed to come out. Your good eyes gave a long look, a deep look, a loving look, a calm look. And you said: "We will get through this too, we are a team, I remind you."
From here, Hmal Morig began to act. Doctors, appointments, tests, reading endless information, panic, reassurance, hugs, tears, hope. Everything from everything.
I entered your study, and I saw the poem you wrote on the screen:
The gift / Yossi Morag

The corner where you could share your pain and concern with me.
Every day you wrote us a song and another song that we published in your third book of songs that we chose to call it:
"There is more to give".

Someone upstairs arranged our schedules. On the last birthday you celebrated, we were invited to the hospital to receive a treatment plan. Let's go. you can't accompany me I insist not. Two must not fall together. The first treatment began. The bed was waiting for me in the ward. I arrived equipped with an iPad, busy writing. As much as I can, I will write. And this is how I started: "Each one and her film...
I wrote and fell asleep. I wrote and dozed off. Sisters and brothers are busy and pass by, behind a neighbor's curtain, on the other side, a familiar voice. A whole life behind the curtains. And I'm immersed.
I know I will win. I know there are people watching over me. Here below and there above.

Slowly the needles are removed. Stains of color cover my arm.
"It will pass" I ponder and calm down. Want to go home, calm you down. You remain in the rear but at the front.
At home, with clasped arms and the chef's meal you prepared for me with love, we both sat down.
your eyes in my eyes The worry, the helplessness were reflected as a winning mirror, pure from your eyes... I also saw strength, I saw the optimism. all yours

The side effects were not long in coming. According to the scripture: every day and its power.
The house was emptied of visitors. Any infection or disease at this time is quite a curse.
We made sure. All information was filed after reading, and remained in the kitchen. for refreshment and learning.
Passover is difficult. limited table.
No meeting, beware of a compromised immune system.
Five people at Night Seder. Father and mother, and two of the boys. The table is set to glory, our traditional holiday foods, spreading the aromas of the holiday throughout the building.

It's stormy outside, the rains fall relentlessly. The wind whistles a tune through the windows. The outside and the inside are the same.
There is no spring, no ray of light, nothing!
The days are long, the sweat is exhausting, the nausea is terrifying. day and day Until Pesach Shani. Pesach Shani brings with it light. The sun sends out heat rays and you go out to ventilate a little.
Stroll the streets of our Carmel. A journey of several kilometers. "I'll arrive around noon," you announce.
And I'm so happy that it turned out so well for you.
I just didn't know it would be the last exit.

You turned around, you returned home with superior forces. I called an ambulance. Hospitalized.
All my pleas to go to the hospital were met with a complete no.
"Your neutrophils are very low" 
"There are infections in the hospital"
"Responsibility for children"
"You are in your battle now."

You went in and didn't come back to me. Companionship with thousands, that I am isolated from you, from them.
Dizziness, weakness, mask, water, a roller coaster that crashed into her.
arose from "seven". At 7.30:9.00 we are all in front of the flower bouquets in the cemetery, you still don't realize where I am and where you are. After all, at XNUMX:XNUMX a.m. I am waiting for a second treatment at the hospital.
Treatment and side effects, more treatment and more effects.
Wrapped in sons, daughter-in-law, friends and girlfriends.

I know I will win. know you are with me Feel our power together.
The side effects that came in an instant, took their time to disappear and say goodbye to me.
The hospital staff has become a part of lifestyles. Tests, follow-ups, concerns, anxieties.
Because the doctor insisted and said: "This is a recurring disease", and to my question Does the mother know anyone whose disease has not returned?, bowed her head.
And I, exactly the way we lived together for over 40 years, continue to lead our wonderful tribe.
On the side of pain, there are joys.
Aside from concerns about the disease, there is a welcome activity,
There are growing occupations in all kinds of shades and channels,
I won family and friends.
On the longing side, there is gratitude for the good that was.

And maybe... when the doctor asks: "Do you know someone whose disease has not returned?"
Answer: "Yes, I know."