Not the News We Were Hoping For

It’s been pretty shitty around here. Pardon my language. I don’t normally cuss. Not that I think anything’s wrong with that. Mostly I prefer to come up with funny ways of swearing though. It challenges my creativity.

But the last couple of days I haven’t been feeling very creative or much like being challenged, because I already feel challenged enough. My heart’s heavy.

I’m mad at myself. I should’ve gone with Wayne to his follow-up appointment Wednesday. Today was the day he had another CT to check on the nodules in his lungs.

Mr. Independent

He didn’t really care if I went. I think. I’m not sure. He didn’t ask me to go. He gave me the impression he was fine going alone.

He’s not like me. He’s fiercely independent about most everything. I’m fiercely independent except when it comes to anything medical. I don’t like going to appointments alone –even though you’d think I’d be used to it by now. I almost always go alone.

Anyway, he called after his appointment with his pulmonologist. I could tell from his voice that he was shaken.

The good news was the nodules hadn’t changed dramatically in size. One was a bit smaller. The other was a bit larger.

The bad news was because they’re still there, the radiologist recommended a PET scan. And apparently the pulmonologist was less confident this visit about dismissing the chances of it being cancerous.

I had a zillion questions. Normally he’s Mr. Question, but he’s proof that bad news shakes even the steadiest. His mind drew a blank and he didn’t think to ask the obvious questions.

That’s among the reasons I wish I’d been with him.

Drama

That and because he was clearly rattled. He only went to the follow-up to put my mind at ease. He was convinced he’d go in, get a clean bill of health, and be dismissed. He was not expecting to hear he needed further testing.

He and I have argued about this before. It stressed me out to have to go first every 3 months, then every 6, for my chest X-rays. It stresses me out whenever they send me for any kind of “extras/just-in-case” testing. He always poo-pooes me.

“I don’t see what the big deal is. Just go and get it done. It’s better to know.”

Now he gets it.

No. The saying “ignorance is bliss” exists for a reason. Sometimes it’s just better not to know. (And sometimes I already feel it in my bones the test is an exercise in futility because I’m fine. I get mad because they’re wasting my time.)

That’s how he feels now.

Which is about par for the course. This always happens. He doesn’t get it until it happens to him –“it” being any number of things, but normally something that causes me alarm, stress or concern that he dismisses as me being dramatic.

Which I get. I can be overly dramatic. And I’m definitely dramatic when it comes to healthcare. It’s how I was raised. (Which might a good post for another day.)

He says he feels fine. He doesn’t think anything is wrong. And to be honest I’d be hard pressed to believe he could exercise as hard as he does every day if there was.

Still, there is that “what if…”

Owning My Meltdown

But I’m trying not to worry. I let myself have a meltdown Wednesday and then another small one yesterday. That’s one thing my cancer taught me. Society expects us to always have a brave face.

Fuck that. There are times your face is going to be anything but brave. It’s going to freak out, be messy, and find itself contorted in downright unattractive ways. Twisted with grief, stained with tears.

And it’s okay. A-okay. That needs to happen. Stifling those kinds of emotions leads to trouble. Owning them is where real power and strength comes from.

So, yeah. I own my meltdowns. Which have been as nasty as the days have been lately. (a.k.a. Dark and stormy.)

Making it worse is this conflict within me. As much as I’m a dreamer, I’m also a realist. Life doesn’t last forever. Wayne and I are growing older. One day we will die. I get that…and yet I don’t. It’s a struggle to face facts.

Greed

That’s what hurt my heart most when I was diagnosed with cancer. I didn’t want to contemplate leaving him so soon.

Not that it was that soon. We’d been together a total of 22 years by then. That’s longer than most marriages last these days. In some ways I was being greedy.

But, oh God, how I wanted to keep being greedy.

Wayne is my pea pod mate. He’s my best friend. Even when we’re doing nothing, just being with him makes my soul whole.

I’ve known what it’s like to be part of a family where you’re not loved and cherished. He introduced me to the other side of that equation. To be part of a unity fueled by love. I wasn’t giving that up before I had to. I wanted as much of it as I could get for as long as I could get it. Still do.

10 Years Twist of Irony

I started off this year focused on one thing: getting to June healthy. That’ll officially mark 10 Years in the Clear, when I officially finished all treatments.

Yet, here I am, 10 years later, with that “what if” haunting me again. Except this time there’s a twist. It’s not me I’m worried about checking out early. It’s Wayne.

Nope. Not if I have anything to do with it. In so many ways he loved me back to health. Although to be fair, there was a lot that contributed to my remission. (Great friends, medicine, faith, and Haunt Jaunts!)

But the root of it, the foundation, was his love. I had fallen to such a low point that if he had turned his back on me then, or lost faith in me, I would’ve literally died.

I had given up wanting to live. Because I hurt so bad. Both physically and emotionally, but more so physically. It literally was a fight back to health, and he was there pulling me through and cheering me on when I just wanted to close my eyes and never wake back up. I just didn’t want to suffer that agonizing pain anymore.

April

And then one day it was gone. I don’t remember the exact day. But I remember it was a spring day in April.

If you’ve ever experienced a constant pain and suddenly been aware it’s gone, you get it. If not, there’s no way I can take you there. And honestly? I don’t want to. I wouldn’t wish that kind of suffering and misery on my most despised enemy.

April is now once again the focus. April 24. That’s the date of his PET scan.

It still could be nothing. It still could just be scar tissue. There are many positive signs that he’s fine. He’s still got his appetite. He’s not losing weight. His energy is still off the charts.

It could still just be from a previous infection. He has had both pneumonia and pleurisy at different times.

Mission: Happy, Healthy Cells

Until then, happy cells are healthy cells. That’s been my motto post-cancer. I’m now on a mission to make Wayne as happy as possible. There won’t be room for any bad cells.

For me that means cooking him awesome, health-filled meals and cleaning up all my messes. (I know me and my semi-hoarder ways causes him stress. Time to stop procrastinating and get the last of the de-junking done!)

If you want to help, just direct some happy thoughts his way. Or tag him in a funny meme or video. Suggest a great stand up routine we can stream. (If you’re not friends with him on social media, tag me. I’ll make sure he sees it.)

Love and laughter are necessary ingredients for so much. They’re a huge part of our marriage. They’ve always enhanced joy in the good times, and smoothed out the rough patches during the bad.

I believe love and laughter were key ingredients to helping me find remission. I’m equally as positive that’s the Secret Sauce to coping with whatever this is.

That’s the very best thing about this Great Unknown we’re in right now: it’s filled with Hope. There’s room for us to imagine it really is nothing more than just a scare. That’s it not the Big C.

Making a few tweaks to welcome more happiness could end up being a great new way of life for us, regardless which way the test results turn out!

What makes you happy? What do you do to welcome happy into your life? And do you do it on a daily basis?