Let’s start with a depressing post

IMG_1206My wife is dying and there’s nothing I can do about it.

I’m sitting in the hospital this morning, waiting for her to finish a procedure where they inject chemotherapy drugs directly into her spinal cord to try and slow down the progression of the disease. It’s a treatment which no one even expects to work. The best we’re looking at is buying more time.

She’s 27 and she’s dying of breast cancer.

It’s been a little surreal this last week. On Friday, it was our sixth wedding anniversary. Bonnie called the doctor to get the results of a fairly routine scan. She’s been undergoing cancer treatments for the last year and a half, but we were supposed to be done with aggressive treatments for a while. Instead of the “all clear” that we were expecting, the doctor told her that he wanted both of us to come in on Monday to talk with him. That of course made for a nice, stress-free weekend while we tried not to think about all the things that could be going wrong.

My typical stress-relief strategy of “what’s the worst that can happen?” was useless in that context.

And then of course he gave us the news. That whole situation deserves its own post, so I’ll give you the short version. The cancer has spread all through her spine and part of her skull. It’s pushing on her central nervous system and there’s really no effective way for us to kill it at this point.

When you’re facing the death of a spouse, there are a lot of ugly words. Even words that didn’t sound so bad before have become really ugly:

metastasized

shunt

single parent

leave of absence

hardship exception

widower

One of the most frustrating things about this whole thing is that the grief doesn’t even get to be private for any amount of time. The day we found out about the prognosis we had to start making arrangements. Bonnie called her family, I called mine. I had to start talking to my school, Bonnie had to start working on the insurance. There’s not enough time for grief or silence, for just being alone with each other. The pain is immediately trotted out and shared with the whole world. People want to be supportive and they stop by and call and ask invasive questions, but I wish we could have had just a day or two with each other.

Cancer is a jerk.

People keep asking me how I’m doing, and I keep saying that I’m fine. I don’t even know how I’m supposed to process this situation, much less explain it to anyone else. So in lieu of actually talking to anyone who is physically here, I’d rather just send some thoughts out onto the internet. The internet is like therapy with more cowbell.

I think that’s the reason I decided to start this blog. I need to talk or vent or whatever and the internet seems to have an unlimited capacity for absorbing that sort of thing. Thanks, Internet.