Friday, May 13, 2011


 First, I'll apologize for having not posted in so long. I will try to remedy this, one way or another.

 My work recently started up a fund for us, which I am incredibly appreciative of. It also had the effect of letting people who I don't talk to on a day to day basis know about our situation. One of those people, I found out went through something similar to us. Her husband was diagnosed with cancer right before their wedding, and she said something that resonated with me. The was talking about how they lost the first several months of their marriage.

 I really understand what you lose, and it is a lot. Even when it turns out well in the end, the scars are still there, literally and figuratively. Some things come back, some things don't.

 The first thing that we lost was that sense of being in control of life. You expect, from day to day that you have everything in front of you, and then something like this comes along, and you can see nothing past it. It is this looming cloud, and it encompasses everything in front of you. It clears eventually, but it is slow going.

 The second thing was the physical aspects. Watching Robin lose her hair, her breasts and then her uterus was painful. Being a husband, you feel you can protect the ones you love, but in this situation, you are completely powerless. You can only say, "We'll get through this," so many times.

 You also begin to realize how empty telling her: "It's only hair," or "They're only boobs," or "We were done having kids anyway". In the same way, you can say "It's just an eye." When you lose a part of yourself, you wake up and realize it will be like this forever.

 Sure, there is reconstruction down the road, but it will never be like it was. That is another thing we lost. Life will never be like it was.

 The lost time is the one that has been hitting me lately. We had ideas where we would be right now. We had been picking up steam on the house, we had a brand new baby. We had trips planned out.  I was really hoping to get my Harley.

 The best laid plans of mice and men, gang oft aglee.

 But, we are coming up on her last chemo. Finally. The taxol has been getting rougher and rougher each time. This last treatment has left her fingertips numb. Handfuls of steroids, oxycodone and assorted things. Medical marijuana would probably work better, but the pharmaceutical companies don't get anything out of that.

 One last treatment, and then the radiation. And after that the healing.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel, but the road behind us has been long and painful.

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