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Der Tag

This is Chapter 17 of Love Song by Julienne (ft Cancer). You can click here and scroll down for the older ones.

What I am going to try to write today is the story of, up to that time and for years afterward, the very worst day in the life of Julienne and myself. It’s the day I don’t talk or think very much about. That day is why I was so reluctant for so long to write any of the Cancer Caregiver Feelings posts. Julienne and I would sometimes talk about small, snapshot portions of that day – tiny moments in the storm – but I have never really talked about it to anyone. I spent years avoiding even the thought of that day, and I am very good at avoiding thoughts. I have no idea how this will go.

In my mind, I think of that 24 hour period, from noon on Thursday the 24th to noon of Friday the 25th, as Der Tag. It is German for, simply, The Day. I think of it because I am a fan of history, as the saying goes, and Der Tag was the term used in pre-Great War Germany for the inevitable (to their minds) day to come, when they would mobilize for war against France and Russia. On Der Tag the levers would be thrown, the machinery would turn, and destruction on a level unimaginable even to the people planning it would be unleashed. For me, Der Tag is an abscess in my soul, the source of an unthinkable well of pain and sorrow that is scabbed over lightly, a never-healed scar that is avoided at all costs lest the bleeding start.

That is the scar I will try to open today. That is the well I’ve referred to a few times while I write these stories. I expect a lot of otter, or Lewis or Jules or puppies or something-else-cute, breaks as I go along. When I break emotionally, I just type [break] in the document and walk away, for hours or days or however long it takes me to come back, and when I post these stories I replace the [break] with a picture of something adorable I found during the break to lessen the blow for myself and for anyone who might need it.

I guess I could skip it, or at least portions of it, give a brief sketch like Julienne and I would both offer when telling her story. I don’t want to do that. I feel like it’s important for me to put myself back there, the center of the storm of fear and helplessness and grief. A lot died that day. Julienne and I had to mourn those deaths while contemplating a wholly uncertain future in a hospital room in the wee hours of the morning. The people that Julienne and I were before that day died. But the people we became were born that day, stronger, kinder, and better than we were. Our relationship was broken down and reassembled into a new pattern, our identities forged together into a single whole, an unbreakable alloy both flexible and strong. We needed that to weather what was to come, and the person I am now is defined by and for Julienne because of it. Without her, I’m broken, but I’m still stronger than I was before. I’ve come this far. I can go a little further.

OK. This is it. Der Tag. The Day.


Xmas otter break.


Walking into Hopkins for the first time, it was clear that we were in for a completely different experience from Christiana. Everything about the place seemed to mark it as a state-of-the-art facility, from the design, colors, even the lighting. There weren’t rows of patients sitting on beds lining the halls. It was just a completely different atmosphere. Of course, that impression was just something going on in the back of my mind. In the front of my brain, I was just terrified for Julienne and trying to find her again as soon as possible, carrying the bags full of things she had wanted with her through this ordeal. I made my way through the hospital to the right section and finally found her as she was being settled in her room.

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