I don't expect anyone to read this, but I need to get it out, lest it rattle around inside me until it starts to eat away at my psyche like the cancer that's eating my wife's body and soul.
It's difficult for me to start at the beginning, so I'll start in the present and work my way back. Much like one of my favorite authors, Kurt Vonnegut does in Slaughterhouse Five.
My wife is dying. Of cancer. It started as breast, which we thought we had an handle on. Two masectomies, radiation, mutliple bouts of chemotherapy, and visits to five different oncologists have been part of the trip, but this last week really made me feel we were in the home stretch.
Her mind started to go about a month ago. She changed chemotherapies after her previous one showed a decline in effectiveness. The new one was showing signs of promise, but she had increased pain, we assumed due to the new med. Pain killers were prescribed, and she began taking the full dose as I didn't like seeing her hurting. Then she began getting confused. Speech was slower, and she sometimes chose odd words. Headaches started occuring, and daily bouts with vomiting; not all day, but more then she ever showed before.
I called her oncologist and Diane, my favorite nurse at the oncology center suggested I bring her in the next day. Diane made the appt, called me back and was extremely supportive but pushy. I took her in on a Wed morning, and they started her on an IV to hydrate her, added some pottasium, and ordered an MRI. MRI showed no tumors, but some inflamation around the covering of the cortex. A cat scan later that day showed the same. She was admitted while they ordered a spinal tap to test the fluid. That showed cancer cells in her fluid. Bad news. Surgery was scheduled to install a port for chemo, and another cat scan taken to look at the spot that may be a tumor. Surgery went well, but the tumor was more intrusive then they thought, eating it's way into her brain.
Her mom, dad, brother and a friend arrived to wait with me. I would of preferred to wait alone, which may seem cold, but I find I can think better without the distraction of conversation. Not to mention I end up consoling the people I'm waiting with. But I'm not so selfish that I don't realize they are her family, her blood, and and are as connected to her as I am.
After the surgery she looked like hell. But was semi concious. About half of what she could verbalize was coherent. She kept wanting to get up, and I consented to a vest like device that would hold her in bed. It seems mean, but she would hurt herself getting up, and she was tied to several machines and IV lines.
I'm scared I will lose her. I'm scared that she keep on living in pain and seeing the world through a dwindling mind.. I'm scared my boys won't know how to deal with either. I end up supporting and helping her friends that are more broken up then myself (at least on the outside).
Don't get me wrong. I'm hurting deep inside, but it comes out of me in different ways. I don't eat. I can't sleep. I haven't had a beer in a week. I cry when I'm alone.
I'm tired....it's four AM and I need a little more sleep before I have to motivate the boys to school.
