Months of sleep evades us. Los Angeles to New York, planes, taxis, cars, specialists, doctors, hospitals, hotel rooms. Vending machine dinners. Church. Chemo, needles, tests, tubes, scans, pills, bad news, worse news. No news.
No one knows what to do or say. We try to stay positive in front of my sister and tears find us in the corners of hotel laundry rooms and hospital hallways. Mostly, we just stare off into space until Xanax takes us off to sleep.