Denial Or Optimism: Blurring The Line For Survival
Tuesday, March 9, 2010 at 5:57PM
Image by califmom via Flickr
“We really want to help you.”
“This is an aggressive disease.”
“There’s a very real chance this won’t work.”
“I’m nervous about doing the transplant.”
“You understand the risks are increased because of your situation.”
I see it now for what it is. The hesitation in the doctor’s words, movements, the catch in his voice. He’s scared.
At first I thought I was projecting my own fears, but not after yesterday. Not after the doctor said, “I’m nervous.”
Bob answered back, “But if you don’t put me in the game, I won’t have a chance to bat.”
And I sat in the stands, wondering why we have to play this game. Why didn’t we sign up for shuffleboard?
Radiation ends in three more days. Thursday.
Bob will have a CT on Friday. We’ll meet with Dr. Waffle Cone again on Monday to go over the results of the CT, discuss the state of Bob’s lung, the risk of pneumonia, and, I’m sure, again, the very real risks of the transplant.
What we don’t always discuss, but have, is the alternative.
Doing nothing.
That’s the other option. That’s it, really. Palliative care. Keeping him comfortable until he dies.
Dies.
Until my husband dies.
Doing nothing until my husband dies.
I’m standing at a craps table in Vegas and I’m gambling with my husband’s life.
I grew up in Nevada. I don’t gamble. I’ve never played craps. I don’t want to start now. And I don’t want to start with my husband’s life, but I don’t get a choice.
Instead, I get this.
I get to pretend in front of my kids that their father is going to have a transplant that we hope will make him better, knowing full-well that in a matter of weeks, they may have no father at all.
I get to go about my days with a husband who can barely hold my hand at times because the pain is too excruciating to extend his arm, but at least he’s here, and he can laugh, and he’s my partner, and their father, and my world.
I get to spend my nights, lying awake, listening to him breathe, cough, moan in pain, but he’s here, and I can talk to him, ask him what he needs, try to make him comfortable.
I’m supposed to be supportive, his cheerleader, looking at the positive, being convinced he’ll pull through this, but I’m so fucking scared I can hardly breathe. I don’t know how to be Pollyana.
I just know how to be afraid.

Fuck Cancer 




Reader Comments (53)
holding you in my heart
I am scared for you too, Leah ... but I am also praying hard for you and your hubby, and I know lots & lots of others are too. Hopefully the love and prayers from your friends and family will surround you with comfort and peace and strength.
Oh my God! That's all I can say and I love you! I think of you and Bob all the time........
Love,
Lynn
God I want to be able to make everything all better for you. All I can do is love you.
Don't forget to shower.
None of this is fair and I'm so angry about it. But. He is still here. And he is still fighting. Keep giving it all you've got. You are surprising yourself every day - I know it - because even when you're tired and sad, you've still got more in you. You do. You're so incredibly strong. You have no choice, but you are meeting it head-on with amazing grace.
I love your nuts off.
Hugs.
I love what Bob said about wanting his chance at bat. Here's hoping he gets it. I know the doctors will do everything they can to give him that chance.
I am sending you, Bob and your children all of my love and support. I wish these words could heal you, could make everything okay again. There are many people who are pulling for you, who think of you every day, we invisible people on the internet. We DO care and hope for the very best for you and Bob.
{{{{{(((((with much love and hugs and hope!)))))}}}}}
Doctors can be nervous, and people still heal. Hope is not lost. They are men, fallible men who often have the best intentions, but they can be wrong.
You are strong. He is strong. I still have hope.
I've sent up prayers and am sending you all the love & healing energy I can give. You're right. No one wants to play that game. No one should ever have to. People beat the odds sometimes. I'm praying for all of your sakes that this is one of those times.
I think it'd be great for him to get to go around for the rest of his long life saying "I kicked cancer's ass!"
Hugs and love,Sunshine