I lost my job for health related reasons and started home schooling my eldest son, my youngest son was going to various therapies and appointments,etc. Finally last year after both boys had started public school and I was looking at the job market things had started too settle into a normalcy that was manageable.
My wife was diagnosed with breast cancer.
Seeing those words there on the screen...
Breast cancer.
It's hard to describe the impact of those two words because for people who have gone through it themselves or gone through it with a loved one those two words are a hyper link in life that leads to chemotherapy and surgery, radiation treatments and hormone therapy, grief and uncertainty...and the list goes on and on.
And just when you think you have adjusted to a new normal the whole thing changes... chemo therapy changes to preparing yourself and your loved one for surgery and no matter how brave a face she puts on it in public every day when the doors are closed and the world is out there the reality of it sucker punches you both in the gut...over and over and over again.
Occasionally when I would go out in public I could pretend life was normal, but then I would see...
And then I would feel guilty because that pink ribbon symbolized the solidarity of the women who had and were fighting a battle with breast cancer and it also symbolized the ones who had lost the fight and served as a memorial to their struggle. It was a symbol of solidarity for loved ones who are desperate to support women going through a battle with cancer.
The fact is that when you are sensitive to something you suddenly notice it every where and I had undergone a similar experience with Ian. When he was diagnosed with Trisomy 21 at 6 mos. I remember becoming suddenly more aware of children and people who had Down Syndrome.
I was now noticing people everywhere who displayed the signs and effects of undergoing chemo therapy in their own battles with , as Stephen King would say, the Big C.
The same look that I saw in the people I sat with in the waiting room as I waited for hours for my wife's "turn" to be over. It was a look of determination with a hint of fear. It was the look of hope tinged with sadness.
I wanted to reach out to them but wasn't sure how.
I wanted to commiserate with them because we had and were going through a shared experience that is as unique as each individual. I had been there with Teresa as she experienced the sickness as the chemical cocktail is pumped into the body through a port (a device inserted into the chest with a tube feeding directly into a vein in the neck), the hair loss, and all the emotions that flood through someone as they undergo treatment and so much more...
I wanted to reach out to them but wasn't sure how or even if it would be appreciated or appropriate.
This blog is going to be a reflection on some of those dilemmas and an on going journey that talks about some of those events and issues, but please don't think of it as all doom and gloom and depression...please.
Because it is also about hope, and courage, and strength, and beauty, and survival...it will be about finding that calm in the midst of the storm and of learning to be still when you feel like running.
I can't really speak for Teresa I can only give my side of the story and the parts of the story we shared together.
For the longest time I wasn't able to express how I felt or the journey we were going through. The story wasn't about me it was about her, and my job was to support her and any acknowledgment on my part of the struggle she was going through might cause a chink to appear in her armor while she was in the middle of a battle...
Or to make an incredibly geeky, appropriate and just plain weird analogy I had to be Samwise Gamgee to her Frodo Baggins.
