CONFESSIONS OF MARRIAGE WITH CANCER

Cancer doesn't just try to kill your body. More often than not it can kill an otherwise happy relationship. My shortcomings manifested into the deepest heartache I could have ever imagined threatening my marriage every day.

You often hear about cancer “wrecking” a marriage and tearing relationships apart. I’d be lying if I said I was never nervous about being recently engaged and soon after diagnosed with cancer. I was more than nervous.

I was terrified.

I quickly realized the uncertainty, trials and tribulations to follow in the fight of my life would certainly affect his mental and emotional wellbeing as well. The guilt was so overwhelming I felt the only way to protect him was to call it off. I pleaded that this wasn’t right, that this is not what I wanted for him. But my efforts were futile and he continued to stand by my side despite my empty-hearted protests. He had to know this is not what I wanted for him.

But he probably also knew I would never fight as hard without him.

So there we were, 26 years old, in love, determined and blindly courageous. With no tangible future in sight we stood in a courtroom holding hands and vowed to stand by each other no matter the obstacle.

He stayed by my bedside at the hospital for surgery, he slept on the couch next to me in the recliner when I wasn’t able to sleep in bed, he stood outside my toxic radioactive room door to talk to me when no one would, he came to every doctors appointment, every radiation treatment, held my hair and rubbed my back when I found myself on the floor throwing up almost 10x a day, he researched clinical trials and pushed all of my doctors to critically think about my options, even when there seemed to be none left.

Any reasonable person would expect that after months of this a weak moment would occur. Still to my amazement I can say he never let it happen. His strength in love afforded me every comfort one could find in such a situation. He gave me the freedom to be my weakest without repercussions.

My inability to give him the “best” manifested into the deepest heartache I could have ever imagined.

This slowly infiltrated in my ability to sleep, to speak freely, to pull back on responsibilities and tasks when it was adversely affecting my health. Without realizing it at first I began to pull myself away from him. While I was physically fighting, I was passively accepting my worst nightmare.

If I'm incurable I have to be ok losing him and he would be better off for it.

My distance inevitably created tension, which led to the best fight we’ve ever had. We are not the type to raise our voices over an argument but that night the desperation of two people erupted. For the first time I could feel his pain and frustration from his beating temples to the crack in his voice. And I broke. I cried so hard the tears seemed to be jumping off of my face. I finally put a voice to every fear, guilty thought and hurt I had been keeping in.

I don’t know how much time we have left together.

I don’t want to be the one to hurt you.

I can’t imagine you with someone else.

But I don’t want you to be alone.

I shouldn’t tell you any of this.

But you’re my best friend.

These conflicting thoughts constantly bounced back and forth as fast as my eyes moved side to side avoiding eye contact. As good as it felt to let it out, I felt more vulnerable than ever and even kind of ashamed.

Ironically enough no judgment was passed and instead the honesty was comforting to us both. You see, we learned an intense lesson about love.

Love is a status of being. It encompasses all of you.

There is no halfway safe zone to park in during difficult or uncertain times. This is it.

That is when I stopped running. That is when I could finally breathe in and out again without the deep pang in my stomach I became so accustomed to.

Sometimes as cancer patients we become so engulfed in this warlike state of mind to keep up strength that we unknowingly emotionally and mentally paralyze ourselves. Sometimes this can lead to unintentional detachment. And for some its temporary and for others permanent. But I became a better wife knowing that half the battle was all in my own head. And I am fortunate that we have a better marriage because I was able to let him in.

We learned to accept our fears, guilt and shame just as we accept our courage, care and hope.

He will always be the greatest love I have ever known, no matter what happens.

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