Last June, everything changed for our family. The summer was supposed to be about covering the Chicago Cubs for FanSided. But it became much more than that.
If you’ve been a reader of Cubbies Crib over the past few years, you likely know who I am and know my recent story. If you’re new to the group, sit yourself down, and I’ll explain how the Chicago Cubs, cancer and a baby all fit together. In the end, it should all make sense. But sometimes in this world, nothing ever does.
It was late June when we went to see my wife’s family in Murphy, N.C. I had been dealing with some violent headaches, caused by what was thought to be high blood pressure. This was my first time going to her hometown, but I wasn’t excited. At the time, I’m not sure I knew how to be. My wife almost left me at home because she thought I was depressed. Never have I been so glad I didn’t get left behind.
We had lunch, everyone chatted–except for me. My headache was killing me. I ate very little, had one soda that I never finished. I never leave any soda. Ever. My wife noticed, but never said much. Just figured it was part of whatever was going on with me.
As we went to head to bed as we planned on staying at her aunt’s since it was a long drive, everyone started noticing something was wrong. I didn’t see it, but that’s no surprise knowing what I do now. I was shuffling my feet as Tim Conway used to when he played the old man on the Carol Burnett Show. My wife told me to put my shoes on, or she was calling the ambulance. I said, “I’m fine.” One of the last times I’ll ever say that. I sat down on the bed, and it became difficult to get words out. I was still coherent, heard everyone asking me questions, but couldn’t respond. I was told I had a “death grip” on her aunt’s hand when she went to hold it, almost like I was trying to tell her something. If only I knew.