Patience

The last few weeks have been hard.  Michael is almost always in pain, to varying degrees, and always tired.  It tears me up inside to see him like this.  Watching him take a moment after he gets up to steady himself, seeing him take so much care and time climbing a flight of stairs, it breaks something inside me because I know he hates being this way.  He also hates the fact I am seeing him like this.  He is a man, and men never want to appear weak.  It's written into the DNA, I think.  Right now he is, and we both hate it.

But I am also proud of him.  He let's me see him like this because he trusts I will not kick him when he is at his most vulnerable.  He trusts that I will take care of him and do everything I can to keep him safe.  He knows I won't make fun of him, or bring this up later to hurt or embarrass him.  That's a trust built on love and time.  Very few people get past all Michael's walls to get to that spot, but I did.  It feels wonderful.

Even at our most hellish time we still rejoice in our love for each other.  I never thought I would find love like this, or that I would be capable of giving love like this to another person.  Oh, it's been tested.  But we've passed each one.

Now we are grappling with hope and it's a vicious beast.  Michael's last chemo before taking the PET scan is March 31.  We are both optimistic the results will be good.  The cancer will be gone.  But we don't want to get our hopes up.  We know what it means if the cancer is still there.  More chemo maybe, or radiation.  More drugs, more pain, more waiting.  It's a monstrous boulder hanging over our heads by a very thin thread.  We want to know and we want to know NOW.

Patience.  I'd like to punch patience in it's smug little face.

If the cancer is gone we can finally get back to our lives.  We can get healthy again, we can work out,  ride bikes, hike, go camping, and skate.  We can make plans in advance!  We can see our friends and hang out without worrying about germs.  We can say yes to invitations without the, "We may have to cancel..."  Our kids will stop worrying.  Our families will stop worrying and fussing.  We can live again.  IF the cancer is gone.

Patience, please fall in a deep pit full of sharp, broken glass and lemon juice.

So we wait and walk that fine line between getting our hopes up and fearing the worst.  When I see Michael next I'm giving him a big hug and lots of kisses.  This whole cancer thing has been a bitch, but we've come out stronger than ever:)

Love

For my Michael, because of the millions of people on this planet we managed to find each other.  Because we belong together.  And because I thought I knew love until I fell in love with you.

Times have been hard.  Emotions have run the gambit.  Tears have been shed.  But we've laughed, too.  And we've loved, because in the end that's all there really is.

I'm proud and happy to stand by your side, baby.  You never have to be alone again.  This song is for you:)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xwsYvBYZcx4

Boredom, Party of Two

The worst thing about cancer?  The monotony.  With cancer you get into a routine.  Chemo, after chemo, side-effects, healing, check-up, rest, and then chemo again.  You see the same people in the same places over and over.  As much as you may like them, and we do, you get sick of seeing their faces. 

The pills, the fatigue, the laying around feeling bad, it never goes away.  I ask Michael if he's ok about 329 times a day.  I don't mean to, I know he gets tired of being asked, but then he'll wince or groan and the phrase pops out again.  "You ok?" 

It kills me to see my husband struggle with his battle against cancer.  I can cook, clean, transport, converse, and try to lift his spirits, but when it comes to actually fighting the cancer I'm like a third tit - useless.  I don't want to sound like I'm complaining.  What I have to go through is nothing compared to what he is going through.  But damn, this sucks!  It's like standing on the shore of an ocean watching him drown.  I can't jump in and save him.  I can only stand there and watch.

But the very worst part is being keenly aware of how much is going on around us, and how much we are missing.  We had a friend visit from California.  We were invited to attend church with a friend's family.  My niece had her first cheer leading gig.  There was a brunch we were invited to.  All these fun things..... passing us by as we hide in the house.  Germs, especially those that cling to children, must be avoided at all costs. 

Staying at home all the time is so damn boring.  We can only play so many games, only watch so many TV shows and movies, only walk around the house so many times before we flop down in frustration and just stew in boredom.   You want to feel the passage of time?  Get cancer. 

It's no one's fault, I'm not playing a blame game here.  This is what we need to do in order for him to get better, so we'll do it. 


I'm so proud of Michael, he has stayed the course in regards to positive thinking.  We try to laugh as often as possible.  I do what I can to make him happy, comfortable, warm, and fed.  We love each other and enjoy the company.  But gads, when will this end?

Cancer takes your life and stomps on it with cleats, chops up what's left, puts it in a blender, drinks it down, and then poops it out right at your feet. 

Every.  Week.

We want to be able to go to a crowded area and not have to worry about germs.  We want to go out without people looking at him and asking, "You ok?" We want to spend time with our friends and family.  We want to get back to roller derby.  We just want our life back.

We are in a good position and I realize that.  We are not fighting a losing battle.  We will beat this thing.  Many won't.  I try to keep that in mind.  I try to remember that we are lucky.  When I'm climbing up the walls and flipping through the TV channels, done with laundry, done with cleaning, done with all the "put off" projects I've done, just DONE, I try to remember that.

We are halfway through.  Only 4 more chemo treatments before the routine changes.  I know we can do this.  And once this is over, if you see two people running around St. Louis like chickens with their heads cut off, it's us. 

I'm Lucky

I just wanted to say how proud I am of my husband.  It would be easy for him to be in a bad place right now.  His body is going through hell.  His mentality is taking a beating.  Things have changed due to his cancer and he could very well be a total ass about it.
Butt he's not:)

He has managed to keep such a good attitude it keeps me from getting down.  He is still willing to joke and make fun of our situation.  He keeps going despite being tired and worn out.  He keeps smiling no matter how bad the pain is.  Luckily, not a lot of pain, but a lot of discomfort. 

I snuggle next to him at night and it is the best feeling in the world.  I feel safe and happy and content.  I wish we could stay like that forever, but every morning brings a new set of problems that need to be addressed.  He faces them head on.  I could not be more proud of him.

I read something interesting today: 

 Seems like I found mine:)