Surgery Day . . .
The day cancer entered our lives, lives on forever in our lives. Day to day cancer surrounds us and everything we do. It never leaves. Never. Ever. In the past ten years Phil has been in remission one time and that was right after his first surgery and chemo. We were so naïve then we had no idea what cancer was, nor how it progressed. Ignorance was bliss.
I still remember the day we learned the cancer was back and feeling like we had been cheated. This was not supposed to happen, after all he was in this magical state of remission and we thought remission was equal to cancer free. Again, ignorance is bliss . . .
Today in the pre-op room the nurse was talking to us and make the comment that we seem to be pretty calm. I told her we'd been through this so many times we know what to do--bring our toys and entertain ourselves while we wait. Phil is playing on the Surface Pro 3, and I have my laptop and Kindle Fire. I was too lazy to go around the house grabbing the ipad and tablet too. Odd that I use different devices for different needs. Social media consumerism at it's best.
It does scare me that the cancer will not go away. Will not go into remission. That it is so aggressive it fights to take over Phil's body, We are now in the surgery waiting area and surgery will be at 6:30pm, given that the surgery before him has no complications. One thing we've learned is to not look at the clock and simply take time as it comes. When waiting for surgery the clock ticks slowly.
When we got married I know we never imagined that we would spend the majority of our married life in the hospital or in a doctors office waiting to hear test results. We have yet to hear good test results. I've grown somewhat immune to the results, although I don't like to hear them they don't get the same reaction from me they once did. Does this mean I no longer care? Of course not. It means I am protecting myself with a huge wall of courage so I can be brave and strong for Phil. When I need to cry I go off alone to Salt Beach or to Magnuson Park and walk and cry alone. I take the dogs with me so I'm not really alone and sit and cuddle, burying my face in Bear's furry coat while Harley tries desperately to lick my face to make me feel better.
I'm not strong. I'm not a saint. I hate cancer. I am afraid o cancer. I hate what it has done to Phil and to us. This tumor in his bronchial tube esophagus is so scary and aggravating. The cough, from it, is loud and ear shattering. Loud doesn't exactly describe it. Ear Piercing doesn't really do it justice either. People stare. People glare. People snicker as they talk to someone about it. I try to level the filed by explaining, to complete strangers, that it is CANCER in his bronchial tubes and esophagus. That usually gets me no response and the glaring continues as he coughs. God forbid cancer ever enters their lives. I know the cough is loud and annoying, but he doesn't cough this way because he has a cold or bronchitis, he coughs this way because he can't get a breath in or out of his lungs and what he can get gets caught in the airways. I wish people could show a sliver of empathy and nor roll their eyes.
He hasn't been able to eat for the last 48 hours. He couldn't eat before the PET scan, and then he couldn't' eat before surgery. When they weighed him this afternoon his weight was down to 186lbs. Not a lot for a man 6'6. He keeps losing weight and that scares me too because now he looks like he has cancer. That thin, bald, pale look. I think back to a time, many many years ago, when I weighed 186lbs and thought I was so fat. Looking at him at this weight he is so thin. Mine was all baby fat that fell off while I was in college and I finally settled at a happy 135lbs. Now we both look too thin. I would much rather see us a happy chubby pair.
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