Cancer has been in our house since last July, scaring us with our own hell, stealing my wife's hair and one of her beautiful breasts. But we - that's my wife and two children - are overcoming it. We support each other and survive. Recently, we felt okay, but I stay that way using all my energy. Like a swan, calm and beautiful, but fiercely pedaling beneath the glassy surface.
Part of me is twisted and torn, and I'm starting to worry. Or in other words, am I in terrible confusion?
First, let me say this: it is my wife who has cancer. She is the one deserving of sympathy. Stage 2 breast cancer, requiring surgery, chemotherapy, radiation therapy, and 10 years of hormone therapy. "In sickness and in health" is my vow, and I am proud to step up and provide as much support and love to her and the children as I can find. This is not a plea for sympathy. Instead, I use these words to examine myself and then ask. Can I do everything I need to do?
To overcome chemotherapy, we took lives: running the school, children's soccer club, calls to family, trips to the hospital, trips after trips after trips almost an hour away. I also quit my job. I came back last September. As a recent joiner, it was easy to turn around. And we think we managed. Chemotherapy - 8 cycles in 16 weeks - is over. Now, in the pseudo-war after chemotherapy and before radiation therapy, and even "no evidence of cancer," we may be winning. But it requires just a little extra push (a nudge to our boat) - and I start to worry about going down.
This past weekend, my brother started to stay, and both of our children were rolling with friends, and at some point, I took to my bed. I was shaking and felt completely drained. Was this a recurrence of the virus I thought was shaking me? In the end, I concluded that it was one of the physical health/mental health boundaries that come from feeling overwhelmed. I might ask for a duvet day, but certainly not an event that warrants a trip to the doctor.