Sometimes life gets in the way of blogging. I’m ok with that, since this isn’t an actual job for me, but since I have virtually dropped off the internet for the last few weeks, it seems appropriate to tell y’all what’s been going on.
In a nutshell: my husband got sick the Thursday before Halloween. Sick enough to go to the doctor, sick enough to not be able to sleep, sick enough to take narcotic painkillers. This is a man who has to be on death’s own doorstep to take even two Advil. Naturally, I thought he must be dying. His doctor, on the other hand, thought he had a kidney stone, and sent him home on Friday to wait out the weekend with pain meds, copious amounts of water, and a sieve in which to urinate until nature took care of the problem.
I pretended not to worry (translation: I tried to hide as much of my anxiety as possible and made myself busy nagging him to rest, to drink more water, to actually use the sieve in the bathroom, etc.), but I became fearful as the weekend ticked by and his pain got worse. The hubster is the kind of guy who will gut it out through anything. He’d go to work with his arm half amputated, saying, “It’s only a flesh wound!”
So seeing him doubled over, groaning in pain, and getting up from the couch like a pregnant woman…well, it scared the hell out of me.
But not as much as his attitude Monday morning, when no kidney stone had appeared, and when one of his testicles was suddenly so swollen and tender he wouldn’t let me touch it. Never mind gutting it out, the hubster stayed home from work and called the doctor until, on his third call, he finally talked to the guy and was referred to a urologist. Who couldn’t see him until the next day.
The next day, he was still in agony, and had an appointment with the urologist, followed by an ultrasound and a CT scan. The day after that, he had an appointment at 8:30 a.m. to discuss the test results with the doctor. I offered to go, but the hubster told me to take the kids to preschool and not worry about it.
So I was suspicious when he called me right before 9 and told me he’d changed his mind. He wanted me there for the appointment after all.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. “I know you’ve already seen him. What did he tell you?”
“Nothing. He’s running late. And I just decided I’d rather have you here for the appointment.”
“You’re a terrible liar. Doctors don’t run late first thing in the morning. What’s wrong?”
He almost sounded normally exasperated as he replied, “Nothing. Seriously. Just come down here after you drop the kids off.”
I knew. I knew in my heart something was not good. I knew from his voice that he was keeping it from me.
But I didn’t know I’d be sitting with him twenty minutes later, gripping his hand while the urologist spoke to us about how he was virtually certain that the problem was not a kidney stone. It was most likely cancer. Testicular cancer. And he’d booked an OR for 11 a.m. the next day to remove the affected testicle and the tumor that took up an estimated 80% of it, according to the ultrasound.
“Wait,” I said. “Back up a minute. Tomorrow? Can we get a second opinion before we do this? You said you’re not sure it’s cancer? What if it’s not?”
The doctor was kind, but firm, as he explained to us that yes, we could get a second opinion, but that any doctor in the world would do the surgery based on the test results. And that the test results indicated time was of the essence. We couldn’t afford to wait even a week.
Things get a bit blurry from there. I remember staring down at my husband’s arm. He was wearing my father’s watch. His memories. His legacy. His death, barely 13 months old, shone from my husband’s wrist as I gripped his hand, and listened to the all-too-familiar language of malignancies and tumors.
Somehow the demons stayed at arm’s length until my in-laws arrived and took the children home with them. But they howled through my head the rest of that night and the next day at the hospital.
For now, I’ll leave it at that and tell you only that the surgery went well. The pathology came back in five days (it can take far longer), and while yes, it is cancer, it’s a seminoma, the most easily treatable type of testicular cancer.
The hubster was ordered to stay home from work the rest of that week, and I watched him attempt to rest. Both of us wondered where things would go from here, though the urologist told us he was confident that the next thing would be radiation. To decide on a plan, we had to go see an oncologist, but the soonest we could get in was the Monday after Thanksgiving.
He was right. The oncologist recommended radiation, so the hubster’s due to start a two and a half week course of it soon. They hope to have it finished by Christmas, and then all indications are that he will be just fine.
“Just fine” is not a part of the lexicon I can understand anymore. I’m so happy things aren’t worse, and I know how much worse it could have been. But the voice in my head watches everyone else (including the hubster, now), walk around as if everything is just fine, and screams, “This cannot be happening!”
This is the recurrent nightmare I have dared voice only recently to my therapist and family; the nightmare in which something happens to my husband. Just like something has happened to the rest of the men in my family. He’s the only man with us when we gather around the table for Christmas dinner, and it’s not lost on anybody that we dine with ghosts.
So that’s where I’ve been. Wrestling demons. Not wanting to write for fear of what might spill onto the page.
But don’t worry, because the logical part of me, and all of everyone else, knows that everything will be just fine. I want to believe it, and I will believe it, but for me, it’s gonna take some time.
Oh Angie. So sorry to hear about this. It sounds like things will work out but that doesn't stop the worry! My cousin has been going through this very thing at the same time as your husband (spooky!). He's having chemo. Take care of DH and yourself. You can do this!
Angie,
While not thrilled about this news, I adore your writing. The line, “it’s not lost on anybody that we dine with ghosts” could only be more perfect if it weren't true. My thoughts are with you and your entire family this holiday season!
-e
Angie- Thanks so much for posting this meaningful update. I've been thinking of you everyday, hoping to hear some very good news. Mark is such a tough man and you guys are such a loving family. I am glad to hear that he's going to be just fine. Thinking of you guys extra hard and sending loads and loads of love. Steph Spier
I found your blog via Lauren (aka Petroni). I'm so sorry you're going through this, and I will keep you in my prayers. Cancer is a very scary thing, even when it appears that “everything will be fine.” It's never “fine” when it's your loved one.
Thank you so much for sharing the update. I've been wondering how you – and your husband – were holding up. I don't even let my mind wander in the direction of “what if something happened.” Big hugs to you..
You and Mark are in our prayers, Angie.
Praying praying praying. For peace, healing, wisdom, and that you ate able to find joy this season…
Oh my God. I thought you were just taking a long break. I'm so, so sorry. I'm relieved to hear it's a good prognosis, all things considered, but I can't even imagine. I'm sending many prayers your way.
This is my first time to your website, so I don't know you other than Twitter, but I'm sending my love. The paradox is that it takes courage to talk about your fears. You're stronger than you think.
Oh I can see how you were a bit distracted! I will keep you in my thoughts and hope things continue on a positive course!
@MultipleMum, whoa, that's a bizarre coincidence. I'm so sorry to hear about your cousin. How's he handling the chemo?
@Elizabeth, thank you. That was my favorite sentence, too. I consider it a good day to get just one like that.
@Steph, thank you for the love and prayers. I'm so sorry to have been incommunicado for this long. I just couldn't write. But now that I have, watch out. Lord only knows what other information I'll feel compelled to spew.
@Patti, thank you so much for the prayers. You hit the nail on the head with your comment, btw. Exactly what I was thinking in the doctor's office the other day.
@Cheryl, Lauren, Elizabeth, Megan, thanks to all for the hugs and prayers.
@Karla, welcome! So glad you ventured over from Twitter. And thank you for the comment. It's hard to remember sometimes until somebody reminds you, that it does take strength to talk (or write). Not writing this past month has been awful, but I just couldn't.
@Vic, I hope so, too. Forgot to mention in the post that hubster's tumor was classified as Stage 1, which is, in cancer terms, fantastic. So from a medical perspective this is definitely positive. I just need to get my head wrapped around it so that I can see it that way, too.
I'm so sorry to hear that. I know you have twins so I thought maybe keeping up with the kids might have taken you away from this for a bit.
I really wish your husband the best during his recovery and I wish you all the strength in the world as you deal with this. Big virtual hug to you!
I so agree with Karla~ the strength to articulate this all is huge. Prayers for you and your hubs as you go through such an awful point.
I'm glad to “hear” your voice again, friend. Been thinking of you.
I could say all the usual things and tell you I'm praying for you guys… but somehow I just don't feel like it's enough. I just don't feel like it will mean anything.
But it's true. And I think you're brave and strong and wonderful.
Angie, I'm so sorry to learn of the storm you all are currently riding out. I can't begin to really know the depth of your fears. I can say that the Lord calmed the waters for His fearful disciples and brought them through. He will do the same for you and hubs. SO I will pray and believe for you in case your faith is feeling a bit strained right now! Thank you for being courageous and sharing such a personal story with us all!
Sorry to hear about this and sharing the story with us. Sending thoughts and prayers you and your husband's way.
<3 to you.
That's so much at once. So much. We're here, if you need anything. Anything.
My thoughts are with your husband and you. Hugs. x
So devastating but many prayers are being sent you're way, Angie.
And this may be inappropriate at this moment, but damn it you can write. I'm in awe right now.
Thinking of you guys & still praying!
I can only imagine how scary it is. I have not dealt with it myself (I had a breast cancer scare this year, but all was OK), but both my parents and countless friends are cancer survivors. Staying strong and having a positive attitude are key. Hang in there, sweetie. I will be praying for you and your family. Hope you can focus on the joy of Christmas and be able to enjoy it.