July 15 2015.
It was my 42nd B-day and it was supposed to be all about me …. :) After a lazy morning, I went to the squash club to bang the ball around. The plan was to have a bit of a work-out and then spend the night at home celebrating with Ava and Kim. As I was getting on the court my phone started to ring. It was Dr O calling from The Agency. She had just informed Kim that her cancer was back. Dr O seemed really out of sorts. Usually she was controlled with her demeanour. This time she sounded a little frantic. She told me that Kim was crying hysterically and I needed to come right away. I raced off to The Agency and within 20 minutes I was in the room with Kim learning about how our world was about the change – AGAIN.
Our first time through treatment was very different. Everything happened at light speed. One morning Kim showed me a lump she felt in her breast, a couple days later she was tested, and then literally 3 days after that we had a scheduled surgery and discussions about further treatment options. For the most part, I held it together and just tried to follow the flow of things. I suppose I saw my role as the parent that had to keep things moving and organized. One thing about pushing through cancer treatment is you can’t hide the truth from your kids and you have to do everything to keep their lives normal and routine.
In many ways, I think we were in denial of the full impact this path was going to have on our lives. I remember the surgeon saying to us that we were about the start a long “journey”. At the time, it didn’t really resonate with me. I tend to be the “glass is half full” kind of guy and wanted to believe that it was not going to be as bad as it’s made out to be in the movies. That everything they described was for “other people”, that for us we were going to beat the odds and have an easier time. Somehow I thought Kim could go through this like a task list and at the end we could just go on with our lives. Boy, was I wrong.
I think Kim also shared my optimism in the early days. The first example of this came a few days after her surgery, we decided that Christmas was Christmas and we were determined to venture on. We packed the presents and Ava up and went over to the Island to celebrate with my family. Two days later, we were in the ER after Kim’s stitches opened up. Somehow I think it symbolized how we were just not ready to accept some of the realities that were put in front of us.
Chemo is nasty shit. They pump poison into your veins and essentially try to kill everything in site. Kim’s chemo was so strong that we had to give her White Blood Cell booster shots just so she could recoup enough for the next hit. Over the 4 months, I saw Kim’s body slowly disappear. She cut her hair off early so she wouldn’t have to feel it fall off. During her entire treatment, I don’t think she ever let us see what she looked like bald. I guess it made her feel a little more normal and a little less sick. From my perspective, her baldness didn’t change the way I felt about her. I just wanted to get through this and have her healthy again. The hair would grow back. The hard reality was as soon as she started to feel somewhat human again, she had to go in for the next session.
When I look back, there were some emotional times and tears shed but for the most part I was able to stay positive and truly felt like we were going to get through it. There were also moments when I felt like I was completely losing control. One night, I realized that I had no idea where any of our insurance documents were. Kind of a crazy thought but when you are married to an accountant its really easy to let them handle all the paperwork. As I frantically executed my search, I looked over at Kim and she was white as a ghost. I can only imagine what was going through her head – wondering why mid-chemo I suddenly had an interest in what our life insurance policy was and where it was located. It was a hard moment, I knew our policy but I realized that she takes care of me and my mind had strayed off to a world where that might not be possible anymore and it freaked me out. In hindsight, the “road trip” I took to Nanaimo about 6 weeks into Kim’s treatment was a get away that was down right cruel and poor judgement. Deep down I was craving a weekend away from the stress and ultimately was looking for a little self indulged pity time where I could catch up with my friends and feel their support.
It's always interesting to talk to other people about what you are going through. Sometimes it goes well and you find a way to get support from the interaction. Other times its either the “oh my god, poor you’ conversation, that can get awkward when they are sitting staring at you in uncomfortable silence where neither of you knows the best way to talk your way back to a normal conversation. Or you find you have to control the conversation so they can find some piece of the situation that is “good” and walk away feeling good enough to move on. The only people that can’t move on are the ones who live it every day. In the early days I would go along with it but further into treatment the less patience I had. It sounds harsh but I was working hard at keeping my head up and supporting Kim, I didn’t have the energy to carry someone else’s shit on my shoulders.
After treatment, I remember having a really good summer. We started to get out a bit. Kim had more energy and things were starting to normalize. We took off to Hawaii for a much needed celebration of what we had just survived. In one of our meetings with Dr O… just like all talks with the Agency….we were offered options and %’s. She advised us that if Kim followed the prescribed regime, there was an 80% chance her cancer would not return. The optimist in me only heard the 80% positive, not the 20% negative. I think this was the last time that we followed The Agency without question.
- Carl