Down
October 31, 2008 01:13 PM
I found a cancer website that listed several blogs of
people who have been diagnosed with melanoma. I
visited every one. I kind of wish I hadn’t because,
except for one, they all end with bad news.
Every now and then life feels normal and I almost forget that I’m even in any danger. Then the facts come back in some form or another and I become frozen stiff and my body turns cold. Like the other day I met with my radiologist for the first time. She started mapping out on my head and neck the locations where I will be shot with radiation. She let me know that the little bald patch on the side of my head would probably double in size or more. The radiation will kill the hair follicles on the right side of my head. She also said that the treatment would cause permanent skin discoloration (darker) on the right side of my head and neck.
I must have appeared visibly shaken by the news, because she went on to say,”Hey, you are in a very serious situation here. We have to do everything we can to get you through this.” As if to say that my concern for the cosmetic consequences was ridiculous, that I should be worrying about whether I was going to live or die. Well, if that was her intent, I got the message loud and clear. I went home and worried the rest of the day about whether I was going to live or die. Some people have no bed side manner, you know?
But it doesn’t matter. I’m not inclined to start grudges with people who deliver bad news, and besides, she’s the one who will be aiming the guns! I need her to be an ally.
Yesterday I returned to lay down on the radiation bed in the treatment room so they could construct a body and head mold that would hold my body in the correct position during treatment. The actual treatment starts Monday. It is all going so fast that there really isn’t time to think about what is happening. Maybe that is a good thing because all I would do, if given time, is worry.
I’m overwhelmed by the generosity and kindness of the people around me. My house is filled with cards and presents and care packages and my refrigerator is brimming over with food. All of this helps immeasurably. And I am SO grateful. But today and through these treatments, what I am wanting, of course, is a partner. And that is something that no email or tupperware can deliver.
Last spring I separated from my wife because I felt alone in the relationship. Consequently, I have reshaped my life into a situation where I truly was alone, but at least had the hope that someday I might not be. Now with this diagnosis, I truly fear that I may never get that chance. And I’m struck numb by the fear that I am going to finish this ride without getting to share my heart again. This makes me sadder than anything I have felt before.
I’ve got no complaints about my ex. She has delivered for me through this time in a way that no one else could. She continues to go way above the call of duty. She is coordinating and managing almost all aspects of my treatment. I will never be able to thank her enough. She really is saving my life. And this whole thing feels like the beginning of a very good friendship that will continue on. But the fact is that we do not have a future together, not as a family. The whole thing is so damn complicated and I’m torn by conflicting emotions.
Like many people, I had lived a large part of my life in anticipation of romantic relationships that were nourishing and loving. And yet, my track record in this area has truly been abysmal. And now I am faced with the very real possibility that it very well may not happen in my life, that this is a kind of knowledge and experience that I will not have. And if I ever catch myself hoping, I just as readily berate myself for the hope, because it does seem so distant a possibility.
And I feel embarrassed and ridiculous for admitting as much, but if I am to conquer this fear, (I refuse to die with any fear in my heart) than the first step is to admit it and share it. So there it is.
Every now and then life feels normal and I almost forget that I’m even in any danger. Then the facts come back in some form or another and I become frozen stiff and my body turns cold. Like the other day I met with my radiologist for the first time. She started mapping out on my head and neck the locations where I will be shot with radiation. She let me know that the little bald patch on the side of my head would probably double in size or more. The radiation will kill the hair follicles on the right side of my head. She also said that the treatment would cause permanent skin discoloration (darker) on the right side of my head and neck.
I must have appeared visibly shaken by the news, because she went on to say,”Hey, you are in a very serious situation here. We have to do everything we can to get you through this.” As if to say that my concern for the cosmetic consequences was ridiculous, that I should be worrying about whether I was going to live or die. Well, if that was her intent, I got the message loud and clear. I went home and worried the rest of the day about whether I was going to live or die. Some people have no bed side manner, you know?
But it doesn’t matter. I’m not inclined to start grudges with people who deliver bad news, and besides, she’s the one who will be aiming the guns! I need her to be an ally.
Yesterday I returned to lay down on the radiation bed in the treatment room so they could construct a body and head mold that would hold my body in the correct position during treatment. The actual treatment starts Monday. It is all going so fast that there really isn’t time to think about what is happening. Maybe that is a good thing because all I would do, if given time, is worry.
I’m overwhelmed by the generosity and kindness of the people around me. My house is filled with cards and presents and care packages and my refrigerator is brimming over with food. All of this helps immeasurably. And I am SO grateful. But today and through these treatments, what I am wanting, of course, is a partner. And that is something that no email or tupperware can deliver.
Last spring I separated from my wife because I felt alone in the relationship. Consequently, I have reshaped my life into a situation where I truly was alone, but at least had the hope that someday I might not be. Now with this diagnosis, I truly fear that I may never get that chance. And I’m struck numb by the fear that I am going to finish this ride without getting to share my heart again. This makes me sadder than anything I have felt before.
I’ve got no complaints about my ex. She has delivered for me through this time in a way that no one else could. She continues to go way above the call of duty. She is coordinating and managing almost all aspects of my treatment. I will never be able to thank her enough. She really is saving my life. And this whole thing feels like the beginning of a very good friendship that will continue on. But the fact is that we do not have a future together, not as a family. The whole thing is so damn complicated and I’m torn by conflicting emotions.
Like many people, I had lived a large part of my life in anticipation of romantic relationships that were nourishing and loving. And yet, my track record in this area has truly been abysmal. And now I am faced with the very real possibility that it very well may not happen in my life, that this is a kind of knowledge and experience that I will not have. And if I ever catch myself hoping, I just as readily berate myself for the hope, because it does seem so distant a possibility.
And I feel embarrassed and ridiculous for admitting as much, but if I am to conquer this fear, (I refuse to die with any fear in my heart) than the first step is to admit it and share it. So there it is.
. . . . . . . . . .