I don't want this
I don't want this to turn into a cancer blog. But it has a way of consuming one's thoughts. How can anything else seem significant? My knee hurt when I took a jog last night, and my job has been incredibly stressful this week, and while those would be things I'd bring up in conversation a few weeks ago, they are nothing now, compared to the cancer. Small talk takes on all kinds of new connotations. "I'm going to clean out the closet this weekend," means, between the lines, "I am preparing for the time when you will live here, when you are sick". "What did you have for lunch today?" takes on overtones of watchfulness.
This first stage of dealing with things is most strange. L says, "I feel exactly the same as I did before. The only difference is that I know I have cancer. " One day we are wildly optimistic and the next we are completely freaking out. I pointed out to him, though, that absolutely nothing changed between the moment of optimism and the moment of pessimism, except the churnings of our minds.
In doing more research today, I read something about a 75% survival rate, under the best of circumstances. That simply is not good enough, damn it! I want some guarantees here. Start the chemo and damn the torpedos, full speed ahead. And when L starts looking at alternative therapies and talking about how maybe he won't do the chemo, I just flip on him. I am so angry at the thought of him not doing everything, every possible thing, that can be done. I tell him there's a world of difference between scientific and anecdotal evidence of "cures". I am mad in the most selfish fashion, and it is ugly.
This first stage of dealing with things is most strange. L says, "I feel exactly the same as I did before. The only difference is that I know I have cancer. " One day we are wildly optimistic and the next we are completely freaking out. I pointed out to him, though, that absolutely nothing changed between the moment of optimism and the moment of pessimism, except the churnings of our minds.
In doing more research today, I read something about a 75% survival rate, under the best of circumstances. That simply is not good enough, damn it! I want some guarantees here. Start the chemo and damn the torpedos, full speed ahead. And when L starts looking at alternative therapies and talking about how maybe he won't do the chemo, I just flip on him. I am so angry at the thought of him not doing everything, every possible thing, that can be done. I tell him there's a world of difference between scientific and anecdotal evidence of "cures". I am mad in the most selfish fashion, and it is ugly.
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