Fear, Hope
This was the first week:
Honey I have something to tell you and it is not good...cancer...stage 4....
I've been down this cancer road.
It all becomes cliche - unable to sleep, holding tight, trying to make deals with God but before the thought is fully formed, I recognize that is just not how it is done. Then prayers and tears at wee hours while he sleeps - faucets full - to the point of but not quite over the line of - an inability to breathe. I am old enough to know that doesn't work either and becomes all about oneself instead of the one I love.
I argue, in my most academic mind, he doesn't fit the prototype "high intake of fat, alcohol, red meat, processed meats, obesity, smoking, and a lack of physical exercise. Approximately 10% of cases are linked to insufficient activity. The risk from alcohol appears to increase at greater than one drink per day. Drinking 5 glasses of water a day is linked to a decrease in the risk of colorectal cancer and adenomatous polyps".
Why????!!!!!
The wait for information...the shock, the unknowing, the denial, the fear.
The beginning of the second week:
Waiting to talk to the doctor because quite honestly what we know is cancer...stage 4
....similar to that which killed one of my best friends, my daughter's godfather, at 49 in 3 months...
and in this time another dear friend...we just had lunch together less than 5 weeks ago...the waiter said we upscaled the place...because of her radiance I am sure not mine...a powerhouse, one who inspires humanity...now gone.
But at work, another friend and another's wife has kicked cancer...they reach out, give comfort, suggest actions, exude positivity. I collect up all the news I can on the internet, the survivor stories, the how to's.
Who I want to talk to most is Cathy - she is the link of love and the one who actually was an ontology nurse - the one he will listen too, the one who understands in a very profound way because of who she is. Who to tell and how - the dread of retelling every time, desperately trying to reach the children first while at the same time terrified of breaking their hearts - but at the same time needing to cancel flights and work and other daily to dos.
Finally in the hospital, the doctor visit... I bring my laptop to capture every word because I know I will not clearly remember...hope to get to 2 years...the promise of new knowledge. But still the odds are better than the internet predicted.
Hopes and fears.
The calls, the tears.
Until today:
His son, his lovely partner, my daughter/his - the love, the texts, the calls, the visits, the help - and then the eldest - the call, the planned immediate visit - how I want to gather them up and say he will be fine. The recognition that we are his united front. We...love...him.
My sister, here with no delay. Our friend Corin, Nate and Nate, the calls - those who show up - his impromptu 65th birthday - the last day of his chemo - he might be sick - but we need to celebrate, to surround ourselves in love. Reaching out to those who we shared close times, the party... with balloons and cards...his annual birthday accouterments no matter the size of the celebration. The out pouring of love...the sharing of feast and stories. The full heart and deep rest.
The biopsy - the skiing, the love.
And then the chemo - the reminder of my mother's journey...a day spent in oncology, lovely people to whom Jim tells "you are all so wonderful, just would rather not know you". He entertains the nurses, endearing, he's not one to easily give up who he really is, a lover of people, a kind heart, a smart man. All the time a new normal begins to take place. He's never been one for drugs and in many ways as healthy as they come, extremely active, a genius, low blood pressure, the list goes on - now with tubes and pumps and poison.
The poison allows me to sleep. It is no longer only my prayers fighting back the cancer cells. I can picture them at work. It is them and me pushing back, repairing the broken mutations, stopping the divide - pleading not to divide us. They are now the force, I am the supporting actor. He is the hero.
And then sleep, an unfathomable sleep. So tired for a man who I would beg to come to bed at 11:00 or later...a night owl, a high energy man like our springer spaniels - non-stop busy. I watch over him and watch his peace.
My fear, my hope.
Honey I have something to tell you and it is not good...cancer...stage 4....
I've been down this cancer road.
It all becomes cliche - unable to sleep, holding tight, trying to make deals with God but before the thought is fully formed, I recognize that is just not how it is done. Then prayers and tears at wee hours while he sleeps - faucets full - to the point of but not quite over the line of - an inability to breathe. I am old enough to know that doesn't work either and becomes all about oneself instead of the one I love.
I argue, in my most academic mind, he doesn't fit the prototype "high intake of fat, alcohol, red meat, processed meats, obesity, smoking, and a lack of physical exercise. Approximately 10% of cases are linked to insufficient activity. The risk from alcohol appears to increase at greater than one drink per day. Drinking 5 glasses of water a day is linked to a decrease in the risk of colorectal cancer and adenomatous polyps".
Why????!!!!!
The wait for information...the shock, the unknowing, the denial, the fear.
The beginning of the second week:
Waiting to talk to the doctor because quite honestly what we know is cancer...stage 4
....similar to that which killed one of my best friends, my daughter's godfather, at 49 in 3 months...
and in this time another dear friend...we just had lunch together less than 5 weeks ago...the waiter said we upscaled the place...because of her radiance I am sure not mine...a powerhouse, one who inspires humanity...now gone.
But at work, another friend and another's wife has kicked cancer...they reach out, give comfort, suggest actions, exude positivity. I collect up all the news I can on the internet, the survivor stories, the how to's.
Who I want to talk to most is Cathy - she is the link of love and the one who actually was an ontology nurse - the one he will listen too, the one who understands in a very profound way because of who she is. Who to tell and how - the dread of retelling every time, desperately trying to reach the children first while at the same time terrified of breaking their hearts - but at the same time needing to cancel flights and work and other daily to dos.
Finally in the hospital, the doctor visit... I bring my laptop to capture every word because I know I will not clearly remember...hope to get to 2 years...the promise of new knowledge. But still the odds are better than the internet predicted.
Hopes and fears.
The calls, the tears.
Until today:
His son, his lovely partner, my daughter/his - the love, the texts, the calls, the visits, the help - and then the eldest - the call, the planned immediate visit - how I want to gather them up and say he will be fine. The recognition that we are his united front. We...love...him.
My sister, here with no delay. Our friend Corin, Nate and Nate, the calls - those who show up - his impromptu 65th birthday - the last day of his chemo - he might be sick - but we need to celebrate, to surround ourselves in love. Reaching out to those who we shared close times, the party... with balloons and cards...his annual birthday accouterments no matter the size of the celebration. The out pouring of love...the sharing of feast and stories. The full heart and deep rest.
The biopsy - the skiing, the love.
And then the chemo - the reminder of my mother's journey...a day spent in oncology, lovely people to whom Jim tells "you are all so wonderful, just would rather not know you". He entertains the nurses, endearing, he's not one to easily give up who he really is, a lover of people, a kind heart, a smart man. All the time a new normal begins to take place. He's never been one for drugs and in many ways as healthy as they come, extremely active, a genius, low blood pressure, the list goes on - now with tubes and pumps and poison.
The poison allows me to sleep. It is no longer only my prayers fighting back the cancer cells. I can picture them at work. It is them and me pushing back, repairing the broken mutations, stopping the divide - pleading not to divide us. They are now the force, I am the supporting actor. He is the hero.
And then sleep, an unfathomable sleep. So tired for a man who I would beg to come to bed at 11:00 or later...a night owl, a high energy man like our springer spaniels - non-stop busy. I watch over him and watch his peace.
My fear, my hope.
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