If I thought it were plausible and probable, I'd build a time machine. Not to go back in time, but rather forward. I'd like to flash forward to the week after surgery when we will receive the pathology report and then depending on what it reveals, I'd flash forward again either to the end of Patrick's surgical recovery or (heaven forbid) the end of radiation and chemotherapy.
My time machine would allow me to pass through some difficult moments. Moments that I am trying to mentally prepare myself for. Moments like watching Patrick being wheeled away as he is taken to the operating room. Moments, or rather hours, when I will be waiting in the waiting room for updates or news that the surgery has been complete and everything went well. I would like to fly through the moment when I will walk into the intensive care unit and see him for the first time post operation when he will be engulfed in tubes and wires. A moment when I will see his battle wounds for the first time, I could do without. I would take joy in passing the moments where I will be waiting for him to wake up. If I had a time machine, we wouldn't have these moments. We'd be at the end of this journey looking back and relishing in how strong Patrick was and how amazing our support system is.
If I had a time machine, I'd like to pass the moments when I'll see him laying in the hospital bed or on our couch in pain. I'd pass through the moments of never-ending uncertainty, those in which Patrick will be questioning every bump, discoloration, and swollen node. I'd pass through the moments of awkwardness when people notice there is hair growing on his tongue due to the skin graft taken from his arm, because it will most likely happen. If I only had a time machine.
My time machine would let me stop to see the great moments over the next few months that we don't want to miss though. Once we open our eyes for a quick peek it would then start again so that we can pass the difficult ones. We would stop for the time when our youngest, nearly a six month old babe, decides she'd like to roll over. We'd stop when our oldest sees fit to finally go poop in the potty one hundred percent of the time. A milestone worth celebrating. We'd stop when our babe is going to taste a flavorful pureed glob of goodness so we could watch her smear it all over her face. We'd stop to watch our oldest learn and master a few more letters of the alphabet and take pride in her ever-growing desire to learn. For those moments, I'd ream on the brake lever in the time machine.
I've never been one to have an overactive imagination. Truly, I've never been one to have an imagination, period. I had a hard time playing with Troll dolls and My Little Ponies in the schoolyard at recess and thinking it was fun. But, today, I think I will light the pilot light that feeds the fire to my imagination because I'm really thinking a time machine would serve me well.
Until this time machine builds itself, because let's face it, I'm no engineer, I'll be waiting for Dr. D.'s office to call and confirm the tentative surgery date. A time machine would really improve this journey.