8. A Cry in the Night
A cancer diagnosis is tough. Hearing the disease is throughout your entire body and there is nothing that can be done is: shocking, sickening, terrifying, saddening, maddening, numbing — go ahead and pick one of these, or all of these, or find your own words to imagine how you might feel. I felt them all, and I feel them all over and over and over, again. Within a matter of one month, I went from complete ignorance that I was even sick to discussions about hospice.
One month ago, I wrote the first few chapters of a new book in a new series I was particularly excited about. I’d sent my publisher, Nancy, the chapters and received an enthusiastic thumbs up, so I continued putting to paper the story I’d already written in my head. That’s how I work, I think about the major elements of the story, start writing it, then let my characters take me on a journey. I was off to a very good start, which meant I was putting in long hours at my desk writing, and longer hours in my recliner researching locations for the story. I was experiencing aches and pains from sitting and discussed them in passing with Nancy who was experiencing a bout of lower back pain of her own. Thankfully, her pain is from the aging process, mine, not so much.
Now that I know I have terminal cancer, the pains I am feeling are in my head and in my heart. From sunup to sundown I am thinking about what this disease is doing to me and to my loved ones. My grown daughters are easily brought to tears when they give me a kiss and head out the door or when they see me after a long day away. My girls do not want to lose their mother, the woman who is always at the ready with advice (solicited or not), and who is at the ready with the healing hug that can only be found in a mom’s embrace — their mom’s embrace.
The sadness of leaving my life, my very simple life, is absolute torture. It is a very heavy burden to carry on an already weakening skeleton. I generally save my tears for the still of night when I am alone, although I had a rather long emotional break when talking with my sister-in-law, Kathy, the other day. The former nurse retired to a wonderful life that she so rightly deserves after putting in countless days tending to the physical and emotional needs of patients. Then, in the blink of an eye, she was pulled back into the thick of it by the wife of her brother who is in need of explanations of what is said at doctor’s appointments. I know how hard it is for her to do the clinician’s dance with someone she cares deeply about, and I hurt inside for her.
And then there is my other sister-in-law, Eileen, the deeply spiritual woman and skilled nurse who has spent decades working with hospice patients. Imagine my good fortune that she k.n.o.w.s. what is in store for me, and has broached the reality of my future with empathy and surety that I will be well cared for. I don’t know how either of these women do what they do, but I am eternally grateful that they are walking this terrible road with me. There’s not much any of us can do about any of this.