Today. Life has a sense of abnormalcy. That's about the best way to describe it. She goes to work, the gym, and other things. She is cooking dinner. But we both know it's coming. And it scares her. It scares me. And, I get to watch helplessly as it nears. As she cries, hoping it won't be so. And the question of "why" just stays like the elephant in the room.
This sucks.
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Anal Cancer Resources
I created this list to keep track of all the research and support information my wife sends me daily.
Resources/Information:
http://www.mayoclinic.com
http://www.analcancerfoundation.org/learn/anal-cancer/
http://www.analcancerfoundation.org/micheles-story/
Support:
www.cancersupportcommunity.org
www.ccalliance.org
www.mycrcconnections.com
Resources/Information:
http://www.mayoclinic.com
http://www.analcancerfoundation.org/learn/anal-cancer/
http://www.analcancerfoundation.org/micheles-story/
Support:
www.cancersupportcommunity.org
www.ccalliance.org
www.mycrcconnections.com
We find out...
As many have done, I decided today to create a blog (yeah, a blog - I know, everyone has done one).
Two weeks ago, at a somewhat routine colonoscopy procedure for my wife, the doctor came in afterwards and told us the news that would ultimately change life as we knew it. He had found a tumor in her rectum. She was 45 at the time and had no family history of cancer. The comment over and over was, "you are so young". A comment we would come to find out is synonymous with anal cancer in women in a growing segment of the younger population.
Before we were out of the parking lot, a surgeon called her. She was scheduled to come in the following monday - the day I was to fly out of town for business. Over that weekend, the news very slowly made sense and filtered in. We decided to enjoy the weekend knowing we knew nothing - not even if it was malignant or not.
Monday came. I started my journey out of town. My layover in Atlanta was delayed due to weather and I received the phone call from her while sitting on the plane on the tarmac. There it was. "I have cancer."
Not only was it the news we had not wanted to hear, we were separated in distance. She broke down and cried. I bit through my lip trying to remain somewhat composed as the flight filled. All I wanted to do was run off the plane and go home. She encouraged me to do my trip and get it over with. There was nothing more that could be done until the next step on the way.
I felt horrible when we hung up. Like I had let her down by not being there by her side as she had to receive the life-altering news. And thus, I began my own painful journey as a cancer patient and spouse caregiver.
Over the next few days, we had many conversations on the phone talking about what-ifs and I can't believe it's. When I finally returned home three days later, and what seemed like a lifetime, she was awake and I came into the bedroom and we just hugged. As I've read elsewhere, there isn't much more that you can do. It's completely out of your control. And worse, all I could do is watch as this seeming horror story began to unfurl.
In the week since the news, we both have received so many well-wishes and offers for help when we need it that we are both overwhelmed to the point of not knowing what to say except thank you over and over. I have found myself going through a range of emotions and feelings. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to be feeling. I wasn't sure how I was going to respond. I wasn't sure of anything. I'm still not.
I find I still break down in tears for seemingly no reason. But then I remember why. And I cry some more.
That's about it for now. We are in a holding pattern waiting on the first visit with the Mayo Clinic where testings will resume. Information will be shared. And ultimately, the cancer will be staged and a treatment path will be prescribed. And then, from what we read, the real hard stuff will begin.
Two weeks ago, at a somewhat routine colonoscopy procedure for my wife, the doctor came in afterwards and told us the news that would ultimately change life as we knew it. He had found a tumor in her rectum. She was 45 at the time and had no family history of cancer. The comment over and over was, "you are so young". A comment we would come to find out is synonymous with anal cancer in women in a growing segment of the younger population.
Before we were out of the parking lot, a surgeon called her. She was scheduled to come in the following monday - the day I was to fly out of town for business. Over that weekend, the news very slowly made sense and filtered in. We decided to enjoy the weekend knowing we knew nothing - not even if it was malignant or not.
Monday came. I started my journey out of town. My layover in Atlanta was delayed due to weather and I received the phone call from her while sitting on the plane on the tarmac. There it was. "I have cancer."
Not only was it the news we had not wanted to hear, we were separated in distance. She broke down and cried. I bit through my lip trying to remain somewhat composed as the flight filled. All I wanted to do was run off the plane and go home. She encouraged me to do my trip and get it over with. There was nothing more that could be done until the next step on the way.
I felt horrible when we hung up. Like I had let her down by not being there by her side as she had to receive the life-altering news. And thus, I began my own painful journey as a cancer patient and spouse caregiver.
Over the next few days, we had many conversations on the phone talking about what-ifs and I can't believe it's. When I finally returned home three days later, and what seemed like a lifetime, she was awake and I came into the bedroom and we just hugged. As I've read elsewhere, there isn't much more that you can do. It's completely out of your control. And worse, all I could do is watch as this seeming horror story began to unfurl.
In the week since the news, we both have received so many well-wishes and offers for help when we need it that we are both overwhelmed to the point of not knowing what to say except thank you over and over. I have found myself going through a range of emotions and feelings. I wasn't sure what I was supposed to be feeling. I wasn't sure how I was going to respond. I wasn't sure of anything. I'm still not.
I find I still break down in tears for seemingly no reason. But then I remember why. And I cry some more.
That's about it for now. We are in a holding pattern waiting on the first visit with the Mayo Clinic where testings will resume. Information will be shared. And ultimately, the cancer will be staged and a treatment path will be prescribed. And then, from what we read, the real hard stuff will begin.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)