The Other "C" Word

Chemo. The cure that’s worse than the cancer itself. Surely this is some kind of cruel joke. How can poison be a cure? How can something that makes him so miserable, simultaneously make him well? Then again, I suppose we don’t know for certain that it is making him well. And that makes the misery of it even more infuriating. If we knew without question that if he could just get through the chemo, the cancer would disappear, perhaps it would be a bit easier. But this not knowing…it’s infuriating. Still, we try to stay positive as we watch him suffer. Accepting the fact that all we can do is hope. And pray. And hope some more.

The last time I wrote about The “C” Word, I was angry. I was ready to start a riot when I learned of Mrs. T’s cancer diagnosis. I couldn’t believe it was happening – I still can’t. Then, just a few weeks later, we got the news that my father-in-law’s cancer is active again, ushering in a whole new range of emotions. I’m angry, yes, but a bit more prepared, I suppose. Still, preparation does nothing to shield you from despair. It doesn’t stop your mind from drifting to dark places. It doesn’t make his overnight transformation from powerful patriarch to pitiful patient any less shocking. The larger-than-life man I met just six years ago looks like a different person to me now.

I see the M-I-L differently too. A few weeks ago, she appeared at our door in her bathrobe; her usually flawless face streaked with tears. I instinctively wrap my arms around her and guide her into the living room. We sit down on the sofa and she slumps into my embrace. My heart aches to see her like this. I much prefer her as the over-the-top character I write about, not the frail, frightened creature in my arms. Crazy I can cope with. Crying, not so much. But I kiss the top of her head, whispering that it will be okay, that we will get through this. But I don’t know if my words are true. I don’t know that it will be okay. I can only assure her that she will get through this.

And how is my husband coping with all of this? What can I say…with his typical laid-back optimism. He seems certain that his dad will get better, and if he doesn’t…well, we’ll “make a plan,” as my husband likes to say. In the mean time, he seems focused on keeping his dad’s spirits up, on picking up the pieces of his mum, and of course, pulling me out of the occasional meltdown. Yes, Roger is a pillar of strength. Or a tower of denial. The jury is still out at the moment.

But we’re okay. We’re scared, sure, so the mood is a bit subdued around here (which perhaps you can tell from my less-than-perky posts of late), but I think we’re doing okay. And Bryan has a surprisingly good attitude. He refuses to let this get the best of him. Sure, he's grumpier than ever, but he still makes inappropriate jokes. He still shouts at the television. He still goes to work most days. Hell, last week he went to Zambia. He's certainly not ready to give up just yet. So he will get through this...he simply has to.