7. Another New Pain
Like every married couple, Tim and I divvy up things that need to be done. He does the yardwork because he loves it — except for the part where he hasn’t been able to grow more than a 100 blades of grass in 35 years, but that’s a very long and very painful story in Mr. Wonderful’s life, so I’ll let him do the complaining if he so chooses.
While he’s outside tending his gardens and doing his fair amount of cursing — the kind that wouldn’t offend any flora or fauna — I’m usually inside doing the housework: tidying stacks of things that never find a home, and doing dishes, and the vacuuming, and the dusting (sometimes with a blow dryer), and the blah, blah, blah, — and the cooking. I love to cook. I’m not a culinary queen by any stretch of the imagination, but I can put together some really good meals.
Almost in the blink of an eye, everything has changed — there won’t be as much divvying of duties. The other day, I met with an oncologist for the first time since my metastatic breast cancer diagnosis. After a very brief introduction, she said there was nothing she could do — that the cancer was too advanced and too aggressive. She went on to say my death would be, “Excruciatingly painful, but there might be a pill that might lessen the pain, and there might be a pill that could slow the bone deterioration, but an orthopedic oncologist would have to make that determination.” She continued with, “There is another immediate concern, your L-1 vertebrae is completely affected and there is potential for nerve damage. Oh, and you have several rib fractures. My suggestion is that you limit your walking and all other activity until you see the ortho-oncologist.”
The ‘suggestion’ became an insistence that I use a wheelchair to get from the doctor’s office to the lab and to the parking garage. “Are you kidding me?” I hissed at Tim. “A wheelchair? Already? When people see me they’re going to think I’m sick.”
“You are sick,” he said, all ashen-faced.”
The wheelchair thing came at the end of what was a sledgehammer appointment. The oncologist’s words banged the fuck out of my head as Tim wheeled me here and there and there, “Incurable. Terminal. Nothing can be done.” Oh, and let’s not forget this, “Dying of bone cancer is an excruciatingly painful death.” On some level — on every level, I could have gone without knowing that — I certainly could do without the constant clang of those words in my head. Really, what am I supposed to do now that I know what my future holds? Knowing that my death is imminent is bad enough.
Knowing I will suffer during my last days on earth is:
E.X.C.R.U.T.I.A.T.I.N.G.L.Y. P.A.I.N.F.U.L!
The suddenness of all this has left me wondering, “How on God’s green earth could I be working at my computer hours each day, and buzzing here and there doing the housework, the tidying, and dishes, and vacuuming, and dusting, and blah, blah, blah, without knowing I was on the cancer death march? How is it that a simple blood abnormality on an annual physical on October 18th could reveal, less than one month later, that I am filled with cancer from my skull to my knees?
Ever since the diagnosis, everyone has asked, “Haven’t you been in pain?” The retrospective answer is, “Yes, I’ve been in constant pain in my lower back, and I’ve had intermittent stabs and jabs of pain in my legs, mostly the thighs, and some persistent pain in my rib area, but I am 63 years old, and I sit at my desk upwards of 15 hours a day writing, researching, editing, and proofing my work. Ergo, I have aches and pains.” And furthermore, my friends and siblings have aches and pains — and my friends and siblings are in their 60s — the age when aches and pains begin to settle. I would venture a guess that a heating pad and a couple extra OTCs are the standard remedy for the onset of age-related-ouches here and there. And I would venture to guess no one thinks they have total body bone cancer when an, “Ouch,” escapes their lips.
It never crossed my mind.
I have to tell you, ever since I learned I have to limit my movements and stay at home until the ortho part of this is figured out, I have a whole new pain.