Indeed. My husband has cancer, which is in both his liver AND his pancreas, and Heaven knows where else. It is inoperable, and since the survival rates for such cancers is so pathetic, it’s chemo and radiation and a whole lotta throwing up before he stops trying to fight it for my sake. And I know that’s why he IS going to fight.
To say that this is the worst day of our lives—thus far—would be the understatement of the decade. We lost a newborn daughter almost thirty years ago, and it was awful, but not as much so as this. All I can think of is how unfair it is that he won’t get to see our grandchildren grow up, that we’ll never go to Hawaii like we’ve planned for the past few years…..that we won’t have a 50th wedding anniversary. Maybe not even a 33rd, if these tumors are especially aggressive.
This is all wrong. I’m the one with the health problems. The diabetes, the asthma, the high blood pressure, the bipolar. I’M supposed to go first. I’ve always been ready to go first, even though I’m younger by almost eight years. Now I’m not only going to have to watch him leave, I won’t even be able to follow, because I could never put my kids through the loss of BOTH parents close together. Dammit!!!
I keep praying that this is only a nightmare……that I’ve slept too long and I’ll wake up to find him gently shaking me awake, with a cup of hot coffee in his hand and a cheery smile, and everything will be normal because the good Lord knows that I can’t cope with the enormity of such a game-changing life event.
Don’t worry—I’m not losing touch with reality; in fact, I wish I were, but I’ve never been more sane in my life. Bugshit with grief and revulsion, yes, but I am not in a psychiatric crisis now, although I think I will clue in my p-doc because I’m finding that a little Ativan goes a long way to keep the breakthrough panic away, and I want him to know that I’m taking it.
Well, THIS sucks. I don’t even know what else to say about it.