I Wasn't Pollyanna; Was I Enough?

Maybe it was because we'd already lost a friend our age to cancer, but I had I hard time shooting pompoms up in celebration when Bob first started treatment and things were going well. I did it anyway. I hid my fears, initially. I hid my knowledge about the statistics, unless he asked outright. And, I sighed in relief when he went into remission.

I confided in one friend that I didn't think it was sunshine and roses, that I didn't think it was as easy as it looked on the outside, that I didn't trust that this would work in the long run. He understood. He knew all too well. He'd lost. He knew. I don't remember my exact words to him or his response, and I don't have the strength to go back and read it yet.

I don't make a good Pollyanna. Funny, really. I loved reading Pollyanna as a child. I loved getting lost in that fantasy, but it crashes. Fantasies crash. They aren't real.

So, I powered through Bob's illness armed with knowledge about his disease and a fierce will to fight. I knew that statistics applied to groups, not individuals. I fought for an individual--my husband, a man I fiercely loved and adored with all my heart.

While I was unable to stick my head in the sand about what was ahead of us on our journey, he often thanked me for being his partner in the fight, and I thanked him for being mine. That's what mattered most.