Reconciliation

I've been struggling within myself these last few weeks to reconcile who I am these days. Usually this time of year, teaching is who I am. All that changed quite a bit last fall when Brian and I got married. Teaching became more of what I do and being a wife became who I am.

This fall, teaching definitely does not feel like who I am. It was like moving a mountain to get myself to school this morning after the weekend of Brian's first chemo treatment. Now, I know there is no reason to sit at home; he is just fine. He hasn't felt sick at all, and you can bet he went off to fight crime today. But this weekend was so nice; it's harder and harder to tear myself away to go to my day job.

While I am at school, I am fully there, but I don't stay a minute longer than I have to. I skipped the kids' games today even though they asked me more than once to come to both the volleyball and football games. I skulked past the football field on my way home.

I'm not beating myself up about wanting to be with Brian more; it's just taking some adjusting to find a balance. For so long before we were married teaching was who I was, just as police work was who he is. I don't think it's that cut and dried for us anymore, and it shouldn't be. Especially now. If we have the privilege of having children, it will further complicate the roles I play, but I would welcome the pleasant insanity.

I suppose I'm just ever more grateful for the little moments. I'm hoping that it doesn't take a major trauma to remind me who I want to be ever again.

The Day After

So far, Brian is just the same. He hasn't felt ill and he's eating well. He wanted to go out and do errands and couldn't wait for the TCU game tonight. (62-7, sorry about that, Tennessee Tech.)

I am in awe--as usual. I am the one who feels like she was hit by a linebacker. Every part of me hurts--especially my lower back. I'm told that's my stress hangover. I slept like the dead last night. It was fabulous.

Tomorrow we are having some family pictures made with the pups. We are told that we only have about 10 days before Brian loses his hair. Although I swear since thus far he has refused to give in to anything else, I don't know why that should happen either. It's like he's willing himself to be as well as possible. What a Superman.

We have resigned ourselves to the hair loss, of course. I still have to help him wash it because of the port. (He can't get it wet yet.) He smiles grimly and reminds me that I won't have to help him with his hair for long. It's all part of the journey. He'll get it back.

I just have to say something here about our go-to person for all of our information. We have our very own cancer warrior, Amy. She has been on this lymphoma journey already and her wisdom has made a frightning experience much more bearable. Kathy has been a wonderful source as well. I want to take a minute and thank these wonderful survivors for teaching me so much already. Mostly that we are definitely going to come out on the other side of all of this. We have felt like hands have held ours through each step...God holding our hands through these wonderful women and their experiences they so willingly share with me.

Thank you, Amy and Kathy. I hope Brian and I don't have to pay it forward, but we will be glad to and will do so confidently with such excellent teachers.

First Chemo

It's a lot of hurry up and wait. There are rows and rows of chairs with men and women of all ages sitting patiently, hooked up to their IVs. The nurses are soft-spoken and full of gentle humor to try to make this surreal situation more bearable. Everyone has a peaceful look. You can't help but wonder the prognosis for some of the weaker looking patients. Will Brian look that weak before he is all better?

It was hard not to cry at first. It's finally all very real. Brian is the super hero he always is. Didn't even fall asleep during his Benadryl treatment.

We are here so long today that we watch as people finish and go on their way. I wonder if and when they will feel the effects. When will Brian feel them?

We have 10 more days until his hair falls out. Honestly, that freaks me out the most. I'm not sure why. I know it's fashionable for guys to be bald. I suppose it signifies to me that he really is sick and we really are fighting something awful. He won't look like my Brian...or will he? I keep watching him, trying to decide.

I hope I look braver on the outside than I feel on the inside. I have no doubt that Brian will be in remission in a few months. I've honestly never doubted that. It's the journey to remission that's scaring the hell out of me at the moment.

Fan Club

We have picked up quite the support group over the last month. You might suspect how much you are loved right now, but until something happens to rock your world, you never really know how much.

I really feel that the life lines we have in both our work families help keep us as normal as possible. Brian has been even more overwhelmed by the offers of help and support than I have. He's a cop; cops don't say much. They just act on instinct usually. So when the guys in his unit, his old partner, and other friends on the department started offering help, it meant the world to him.

We have already received delicious meals--at just the right times, I might add. On days when we are so tired already that we might have settled for cereal or even nothing at all.

We have been provided time out with friends where we are just regular people...like Before Cancer.

And no matter how crazy I feel, there is always someone at school to say, "Here, let me help you do that." What a miracle that is.

We love all of you. For your prayers, for making us laugh, for your hugs, for the meals, for the time to just be normal. What precious gifts you all are to us.

Port Day

This morning Brian will have his port put in to make chemo a bit easier. He's a bit nervous about the risks, but he has a sense of humor about it. His bravery continues to inspire me.

It's been easier the last few days to feel normal. We did things with friends that had nothing to do with the C word and no one really mentioned it. It was nice since this is our big week.

Chemo starts Friday.

It's raining cats and dogs this morning. A welcome break from the heat, but it feels a little ominous since we are to spend our day at the hospital. At least we won't be missing beautiful weather by being there all day.

I guess I went to bed too early last night though I was exhausted because here I am, up at four a.m. unable to sleep now. I'm not outwardly worried about today, but I guess there must be some anxiety pent up somewhere or I would still be snoozing away.

It's hard for me to know where I fit in to this picture sometimes. I'm on this journey with Brian and yet, there are many roads he will travel alone and I can't be there even when I'm right beside him. It's extremely difficult to know that there isn't much I can fix in this situation. The best I can do is just to be there. For a woman of action, that doesn't feel like much. Fortunately my rational side is telling me that it's more than enough. I'm selfish in many ways...I want to take care of him. I don't want anyone else butting in. He's my soulmate. It's my responsibility to make sure he's taken care of when he needs it.

Sometimes I feel like I go too far. Like when I caught myself checking his plate after he eats. He's already lost 10 pounds. He doesn't need to lose more. I apologized to him for praising him when he eats well. He's 44 years old, not 4. He just laughed and assured me it was okay.

It must be unbelievably hard for him to know that he will have to let me take care of him when he doesn't feel well. He always takes care of me. I don't open my own doors, or carry groceries, sweep the floors, fold laundry or mow the grass. (Although, admittedly, the mowing thing could be because I have a tendency to run over tree roots...)

I'm so thankful that we get to continue our life journey together after this detour. I'm having a difficult time seeing cancer as a gift, but it has already brought us closer together. We talk more. We are more affectionate and we say what needs to be said; I am not sorry for those things. So, I will be glad for those gifts from this strange source, and not take them for granted.

Stress and Other Diversions

I guess I've been a little stressed the past month. I can't remember anything from 5 minutes ago. My back is killing me. I'm tired all the time. Possibly a little cranky. Nauseated frequently. Sigh...well, I can't let Brian have all the fun.
I suppose it's time to start exercising again. Sigh. I have no excuse on this beautiful, uncharacteristically cool, late summer morning. I should clean the house and the garage, too. At least I have a long weekend.
Up early on this Saturday thanks to a headache that is now dormant, I'm looking forward to the TCU game tonight. First game of the season and at Cowboys Stadium, it will be a welcome diversion. I have no doubt my beloved Frogs will dispatch the Oregon State Beavers with precision.
A busy weekend will hopefully keep our minds off of next week...the journey really begins. Port is put in on Wednesday and chemo starts Friday. I'm praying that it isn't too hard on him. He's always been super human to me. I guess now he gets to prove it.

The Oncologist

With very little sleep the night before, we went together to the oncologist. We were so anxious to know what our journey would be, but were terrified just thinking about what would be involved in making my brave husband well. Everyone in the office was caring and gentle, not just with us but all the patients. All the patients were called by name as if they were old friends. I felt calmer.

The nurse praised the doctor highly and we waited patiently for him to enter the room, our lives. Matter of factly he told us that Brian was going to be just fine. He has lots of chemo in front of him, but he will be well again soon.

I resisted the urge to jump and squeeze the stuffing out of this man who just gave me my world back. Cancer had been holding it hostage; I got it back and I'm not letting go.

It's a lot to take in...chemo every three weeks for 4 months. It will be so hard for Brian, but we have a wonderful support system and lots of faith. And we have each other. What more could I ask for?