Surviving Cancer, My Story Part 17: 'She is my wife'

Part 17: 'She is my wife'

Dan purchased a bike shirt, biking shoes and a can of coke with his gift cards he got for his birthday.  I watched him sit on the couch in his orange bike shirt that looked ridiculously large, while he looked over his new shimano shoes and clips.  He loved to mountain bike; it was his true passion in life. I knew he wished he were out on a trail rather than sitting in our house day after day.  Truthfully, I wish he were out doing that as well.  It was strange to be together all the time, not really doing our usual married roles of divide and conquer.

 Dan also got an updated MRI and CAT scan worked into the day of his shopping trip. Monday was only two days before we were scheduled to be back up to the hospital for round 4 of chemo, our last round before the amputation.  The tests were reviewed as usual, in addition to discussion about Dan’s poor health and his extreme low weight, which was now becoming a problem.  Dr. Chen and Dr. Randall both agreed that at full strength Dan would not survive the next round of chemotherapy.  They decided to lessen the amount of chemo for Wednesday by 20%.  He would be at the hospital the same amount of days and have the same amount of time for the medicine drip but it would be pumped into his veins a lot slower, hopefully to ease some of his symptoms.  They didn’t want to see him back at the hospital between rounds anymore.  The treatment was becoming too dangerous and almost more life threatening than his cancer.

Dan was admitted to the hospital on Wednesday. I was eager to get him checked in so I could go home to rest.  A nasty chest cold, and infection had settled into my lungs; taking my voice to a low raspy whisper.  I could barely speak and I felt miserable. No one was taking care of me, and with Dan coming home a few days later I needed to be in a position to be his ‘beckon call girl’ rather than his ‘death bed buddy’.

As the nurse checked us in she stood next to Dan’s bed reviewing his chart, checking off a list of questions she needed to ask.  I answered some of the questions while Dan’s mouth was getting looked at. My voice was so horrible, I sounded like I ought to be the patient checking into the hospital. In the least I could be categorized as a former chain smoker whose voice was permanently damaged by it’s effects.  I let him answer the rest of the questions while I stare at Ethan sitting in his car seat, wishing I had a throat lozenge. She proceeded to get his vitals. As she was waiting for the machines to give her readings she started some small talk with Dan. I was hardly paying attention to what she was saying.  My throat was so sore, it was all I could focus on. My brain was in a fog and the conversations around me muffled.  A few minutes later I pulled out of my daze and heard the nurse still talking to Dan, “That’s nice your mother came with you today", she said.

I pulled my head up from staring at Ethan in his car seat and looked directly at the back of her head. Was she talking about me?  She wasn’t looking at me, but if she had glanced back she would have gotten the death stare I was beaming into her poofy blonde curls.  Dan must have saw the shock on my face as my mouth hung open because he started laughing and said, “no, no, no!...she isn’t my mother, she is my wife.”

The middle-aged nurse stopped what she was doing and flipped her body around to see my horrified look.  Embarrassment flashed across her face and she began apologizing profusely. Excusing her mistake by how young Dan looked it was clear she didn’t see his birth date on his chart, nor did she imagine that the baby I had toted into his room could be his.  It was hard to blame her after she had listened to my harsh, deep, manly voice.  I’m sure the dark circles and bags under my eyes added to her conclusion. My body still hadn’t had a chance to fully recover from having a baby five months prior leaving my look anything but resembling the wife of a young cancer patient.  It was the most insulted I’d felt in a long time.
Cancer made my husband look young, while it made me look like I was old.
It was confirmation that I was in need of some serious rest.

Alone time at home gave me a chance to get caught up with everyday chores I couldn’t do while I was taking care of Dan.  Laundry had piled up and dishes needed to bed done. I spent a good part of the day doing chores.  The doorbell rang and Cole ran to see who it was.  He loved visitors.  One of my neighbors stood there with a box full of groceries, including diapers and luxury household items our church welfare system didn’t supply.  Cereal, baby wipes, nice laundry soap, and dryer sheets caught my eye instantly.  I hadn’t been expecting this.  She came into my house with smiles and a hug, explaining that she had way overbought at Costco on accident, even though we both knew that wasn’t the case.  I had been assigned to visit this neighbor from our church roster once a month the year prior.  Although very nice when I would visit and check up on her I sometimes wondered if she liked me very much. It was hard to read how she perceived our visits. I attributed my insecure feelings to social awkward moments at the time.  I liked this neighbor but didn’t know her very well at all.  My heart felt humbled as she came into my son’s room and sat with me on his bed while I folded his clothes.  I had never seen her be so outgoing as she reached out to me in kindness.  Her attention to my fragile emotions and situation where exactly what I needed.

She was God’s angel on an errand and she didn’t even know it. 

I had never cared for the assigned visits at church before but at that moment realized their potential in finding unexpected friendships and was grateful I’d been assigned to visit her in the past.  She was a working mother who didn’t have a lot extra.  I knew her efforts to help me provide for my family came straight from the goodness of her heart. 

I wasn’t fully aware at the time but people were watching what was happening to Dan and I. Several times when we came home from the hospital and opened the front door there would be plates of home made cookies and a note, or a card attached to fancy lotion wrapped in cellophane.  A boy from our youth program wanted to have a car wash for an activity to raise some money for our family.  I was hardly aware of the behind the scenes efforts. I usually first learned about it only when the act of service was complete. When answering the door and seeing a boy with a humble smile on his face and his hands outstretched to mine holding $400 cash in small bills, I felt a warm shudder of humility travel through my body as he told me what he wanted to do and how he wanted to give.  I knew it was the spirit, confirming that God hadn’t forgotten me in my trials.  He was sending me love and help through others.

I was the beggar who wasn't forced to beg.

Dan was kept at the hospital several days longer before he came home from this round.  The doctors found it imperative to get his nausea under control before they’d release him this time.  My voice was still gone when I brought him home.  Dan was managing his symptoms with medication and home IV potassium fluids, trying to not throw up. Neither of us had any desire or ability to talk.  We sat in the living room together and watch Cole ‘mother’ Ethan. He had recently developed a number of unrecognizable words and began talking the baby’s ear off.  It was cute to watch him play and talk to his brother, oblivious to the elements surrounding him as being something other than normal.

Round 4 was over.  It was the beginning of time away from the chemo. Dan's body needed to heal.  He would need to be in good enough health to have the amputation, the surgery that would save his life and dismember parts from his body.  It felt like we had crossed a hurdle, even though the race was far from over. 
With a small break from chemo, Dan put himself on detail to mend while I was forced to focus on the secondary aspects of our situation….the bills.  The ones from the hospital had been coming every day, never one under $1000 for our portion to be paid.  I had been stacking them in a pile on my microwave, sometimes unopened.  I only paid the bills to keep us living in our small home and able to get by every month.  I rarely wanted to talk about bills to anyone; my first option in conversation was always how Dan’s cancer was doing.

 Opening my financial life to others was painful. When you need help everyone wants the details and every financial transaction becomes public for scrutinizing. It reminded me of needing help with my remedial math homework in grade school. I hated asking for the help and sometimes felt like I was failing in the subject of our financial life, as most people who get cancer do.

The truth was simple.  Ignoring the bills weren’t making them go away.  I shifted my thoughts and prayers from Dan to the bills.