And So It Begins...
It's been a while. A lot has happened, and I'm taking some time off from ranting about sports to focus on something much bigger.
On Friday, October 6th 2006, my wife Anna was diagnosed with breast cancer. A very aggressive and serious form.
We did learn (to our reluctant joy) that it has not spread to the bones or further in her body, but the overall gravity of this disease keeps us from doing cartwheels.
What can I say? This isn't supposed to happen to a 32 year-old woman, married two years, with a six month-old child. She's keeping a diary of all of this. Photos before and after, through the mastectomy (possibly double), and throughout the four month process of very aggressive chemotherapy. This is my diary. This is where I'll publicly chronicle my journey through this, as a husband and father to her child. I'm not certain how this experience will affect me from one day to the next, but I'm POSITIVE that in time, this will have been but a speedbump in our happy lives, and one hell of a story to tell.
And so it begins.
I've been in and out of work, which is terrifying, considering that Anna hasn't worked for a few weeks, and won't for at least four more months. We're a paycheck-to-paycheck family. I try to stay at the office-- both to keep busy and to make some money, but I've tried to be with Anna at each of her more important appointments. What's torturing me through all of this (besides the obvious "my wife has a horrible disease" thing) is the incredible feeling of helplessness I'm suddenly overcome with. If what hurt my wife was a man with a knife in an alley, you can bet I'd be in that alley every night waiting for his return. I can't hurt cancer. It's hard to see the look on Anna's face sometimes when she looks at our son, six months old, and thankfully clueless about the situation. She has this morbid look of dispair. An "I don't want to leave you" look. Of course, she knows this is beatable, even in the aggressive form she was unlucky enough to contract, but you can't help but be haunted with those thoughts at times.
The mastectomy should happen next week. We have an appointment with the surgeon on Friday morning. I'm not sure what will be discussed, but Anna is going to bring up the question of a double mastectomy if it would decrease the chances of the cancer returning later.
Ahh, the mastectomy. You're probably wondering how I feel about that. Thank god I'm a leg and butt man. Seriously, The woman that I love will always be Anna, one two, or a disturbing three boobs or not (no clue-- just move on). I've thought long and hard about how I might react upon seeing her body with either only one breast or none, and although I'm sure it will be a shock, I can't help but think that all I'll have to do is look at her beautiful face and forget about what's missing. Besides, with whatever adult ADD(TM) I probably have, I consider this just a little less foreplay I have to wait through!
About a month after the mastectomy, Anna will undergo four grueling months of aggressive chemotherapy every other week. She doesn't know this, but yesterday while pacing the halls of the cancer clinic, holding a crying and far-beyond-bored baby, I passed a woman who had just gotten chemo (and apparently had been undergoing it for some weeks at least, by the look of things). I was horrified. She looked like the dead walking. My heart sunk at the thought that I would have to witness Anna enduring that sort of physicall punishment. The chemo is awful. So toxic, the bags that hang from the IV pole beside you have skull-and-crossbones printed on them. No joke. I have no idea how I'm going to be strong enough to see Anna go through all of that, but I'm going to do it, for god's sake, because I love her so much.
Anna has immersed herself in many books about the disease. In one, there were letters to the writer. In one of those letters, the writer asked "My husband left me after my mastectomy, what should I do?" I'll answer that. Thank god you no longer have that shallow, cowardly, waste of human flesh in your life, and carry on stronger than ever. I am husband. Hear me roar.
Well, this should be an interesting/horrifying/taxing/scary experience, and I hope to continue to chronicle the journey from the perspective of a concerned and loving husband. For those of you along for the ride, buckle up, and feel free to add your thoughts.
On Friday, October 6th 2006, my wife Anna was diagnosed with breast cancer. A very aggressive and serious form.
We did learn (to our reluctant joy) that it has not spread to the bones or further in her body, but the overall gravity of this disease keeps us from doing cartwheels.
What can I say? This isn't supposed to happen to a 32 year-old woman, married two years, with a six month-old child. She's keeping a diary of all of this. Photos before and after, through the mastectomy (possibly double), and throughout the four month process of very aggressive chemotherapy. This is my diary. This is where I'll publicly chronicle my journey through this, as a husband and father to her child. I'm not certain how this experience will affect me from one day to the next, but I'm POSITIVE that in time, this will have been but a speedbump in our happy lives, and one hell of a story to tell.
And so it begins.
I've been in and out of work, which is terrifying, considering that Anna hasn't worked for a few weeks, and won't for at least four more months. We're a paycheck-to-paycheck family. I try to stay at the office-- both to keep busy and to make some money, but I've tried to be with Anna at each of her more important appointments. What's torturing me through all of this (besides the obvious "my wife has a horrible disease" thing) is the incredible feeling of helplessness I'm suddenly overcome with. If what hurt my wife was a man with a knife in an alley, you can bet I'd be in that alley every night waiting for his return. I can't hurt cancer. It's hard to see the look on Anna's face sometimes when she looks at our son, six months old, and thankfully clueless about the situation. She has this morbid look of dispair. An "I don't want to leave you" look. Of course, she knows this is beatable, even in the aggressive form she was unlucky enough to contract, but you can't help but be haunted with those thoughts at times.
The mastectomy should happen next week. We have an appointment with the surgeon on Friday morning. I'm not sure what will be discussed, but Anna is going to bring up the question of a double mastectomy if it would decrease the chances of the cancer returning later.
Ahh, the mastectomy. You're probably wondering how I feel about that. Thank god I'm a leg and butt man. Seriously, The woman that I love will always be Anna, one two, or a disturbing three boobs or not (no clue-- just move on). I've thought long and hard about how I might react upon seeing her body with either only one breast or none, and although I'm sure it will be a shock, I can't help but think that all I'll have to do is look at her beautiful face and forget about what's missing. Besides, with whatever adult ADD(TM) I probably have, I consider this just a little less foreplay I have to wait through!
About a month after the mastectomy, Anna will undergo four grueling months of aggressive chemotherapy every other week. She doesn't know this, but yesterday while pacing the halls of the cancer clinic, holding a crying and far-beyond-bored baby, I passed a woman who had just gotten chemo (and apparently had been undergoing it for some weeks at least, by the look of things). I was horrified. She looked like the dead walking. My heart sunk at the thought that I would have to witness Anna enduring that sort of physicall punishment. The chemo is awful. So toxic, the bags that hang from the IV pole beside you have skull-and-crossbones printed on them. No joke. I have no idea how I'm going to be strong enough to see Anna go through all of that, but I'm going to do it, for god's sake, because I love her so much.
Anna has immersed herself in many books about the disease. In one, there were letters to the writer. In one of those letters, the writer asked "My husband left me after my mastectomy, what should I do?" I'll answer that. Thank god you no longer have that shallow, cowardly, waste of human flesh in your life, and carry on stronger than ever. I am husband. Hear me roar.
Well, this should be an interesting/horrifying/taxing/scary experience, and I hope to continue to chronicle the journey from the perspective of a concerned and loving husband. For those of you along for the ride, buckle up, and feel free to add your thoughts.
posted by Kevin Ess at 3:05 PM
4 Comments:
Hang in there buddy! You guys will make it through this.
Ditto what mom said. This will be a tough experience, you know, "character-builiding." Seriously, you guys are strong and beautiful and you have a lot of love between and around you.
I'm glad I got to talk to you the other day. Wish I coule be there in person. I'll just have to do the next best thing: post a link on my blog.
Lame.
Hey Mate,
As you know, Anna is in my prayers. I think about you guys daily and hope (or is it know) that you will make it through this stronger than you already are. Of course that will give you, Kevin the same super powers as "Captain Underpants" which is pretty strong. Sorry, I think I know you well enough to use some humor.
We have been through similar circumstances with my wife's sister, and I am happy to report she is doing great six years later!
You guys take care of each other, and I hope to see you next month.
Holland
My condolences.
My grandpa fought off cancer for the first fifteen years of my life. Through the years, he had been given timetables by doctors with cloudy outlooks for the future, and each time he would make a miraculous recovery that defied explanation, seemingly bolstered by nothing more than a positive attitude and his sheer will to survive.
Even when the going gets tough, you're going to have to keep your chins up, both of you. You're fortunate in that it hasn't gotten too far yet, but the effect of how you approach it can't be understated.
Just my experience there.
I wish you two well.
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