Cancer is a lonely road best traveled together! “Together” is the only word that comes to mind when I looked at my wife Susan as she confronted the daunting challenge of ovarian cancer.
As her husband and soul mate for 40 years, I could not recall a good or bad time when we did not venture the road alone. With such a lasting partnership, I learned that you don’t ask; you just do.
With unstoppable tears I traveled with Susan on this road. What amazed me then, and now, is that Susan was and is much stronger than me! I still cry because I know that cancer is treatable, maybe curable. My nerves are always on edge. My heart still pounds like a bass drum whenever she says she does not feel well, and often her feeling is only a slight cough or a sneeze. I make more mistakes on the simplest of tasks because my mind is not and never will be 100% on that task. I don’t think she grasps my thinking on this, but that’s how I get through each day.
Her strength is beyond comprehension! That strength is captured in her determination. “You need to fight, Cancer will only win if you let it win” is her advice. I embrace her will and believe it or not she is the one giving me my strength. What a wimp I am.
A failing I have is that I too often see the darker side of things. Sue and I differ dramatically on this. Never did she think there would not be a tomorrow due to cancer. She believed. I did not believe at first, even with the doctor’s assurance that her cancer was treatable and possibly curable. After all this time, I do believe in miracles, in great medical care, and the light isn’t so dim.
Am I upset over anything or anyone? Yes, I am. What about the ER doctor at our local hospital who diagnosed a 25-pound tumor? What about the doctor who predicted Sue had six months to live? Both are not oncologists. In fact, the 25 pounds turned out to be about 2.5. The six months is now two years. The urban oncologist with years of experience saw none of this! When it comes to cancer, you can’t blow smoke and you can’t put yourself in others’ shoes unless you’ve tried them on or walked with others who have.
I am upset with myself, too. In her book about her journey, I talk about missing her cooking and cleaning essentially. But who cares, really? That’s selfish of me and I ought to know that those chores are tasks that each of us always have shared, and at times one of us has to muster up and do the tasks of both. I keep trying.
With all said and done, surely the day Susan confronted ovarian cancer was the day that changed both our lives.
I live with six stents in my heart, but against cancer my heart condition pales by comparison. I don’t worry about my heart, because it’s pumping fine. I do worry about cancer making a return visit, though. My assurance not to worry comes from Susan who is a fighter bar none, and from her doctor, Tom Krivak, who appeared to be God’s gift when he was assigned on rotation to take care of Susan. In him, both Susan and I have hope and faith and many tomorrows.
I wonder if others have been so lucky. Some yes, some no. A caring doctor who leads a caring team, coupled with thoughtful friends and even strangers, go a very long way in coping with cancer. Susan and I have no family left, but we have plenty of friends and strangers who continue to reach out to us.
What has given me hope is Susan’s fighting spirit, her victory over the ovarian cancer dragon, her ability to convey her strength to others who have or may face such a dragon. The pillar I hold is her. As I say in her book, Don’t Write The Obituary Yet:
“I believe in hope, I embrace it. Let tomorrows take care of themselves.”
As someone once said, we are in this together, by ourselves. But the road does not have to be a lonely one. I am glued to Susan’s side to make sure she never travels the road alone.
– George Evans
