I just discovered there really is something worse than hearing the words, “You’ve got cancer.” It’s listening as someone one dearly loves tells say he has cancer.
Two years ago, in mid-2007, I had a long overdue mammogram and as luck may have it—the technician saw a few lumps. Within two weeks, I had been checked, tested, and diagnosed with breast cancer. During that waiting period, I saw my world change drastically. My stomach was tied up in knots from the terror at what I imagined my world had become—all without my permission and my input, but I drew my strength to endure the diagnosis, the surgery and the ongoing treatments from the man who means the world to me—my husband, who continues to walk the journey with me, and our children, who, although they lived and still live far away from home, always made sure I understood they were with me every moment. Bill was and still is my rock.
We enjoyed one whole year cancer-free, although treatments continue and it is always on our minds. In that year we married off our son in a nontraditional event we have come to call The Wedding Tour, and we went to Alaska for three weeks. I learned to live life fully now while I can—you never know.
We weren’t to have two years cancer free.
In mid-November, just before Thanksgiving, an all too familiar scenario began to unravel, only now I was on the other side.
When Bill came home from his regular six-month check up, he casually announced his PSA had gone up again—to 4.6 and he was scheduled to see a urologist on Dec. 1 for a more thorough checkup. My heart skipped a beat and butterflies were emerging from their chrysalis in my stomach. I have heard similar words before and the end result was not pleasant.
