Spoke To Soon

After that last post I did plan to make myself get on this and continue writing….then my friend Nancy found out she had a reoccurrence. For the remainder of November and most of December I spent as much time as I could at her bedside. For those of you that have had to watch someone die from cancer, you know, there are only two ways a person goes. First, they are lucky and upon news that it is stage IV pass quickly, if not immediately. Second, the cancer eats away at their body leaving a path of pain and destruction in its path. My friend went the second way.

It is sickening to me to say that I have had to deal with this so often in the past three years. With Esther’s passing it was easier for me than Nancy. Esther’s cancer didn’t travel to her brain so she knew who she was, who you were and could hold a conversation almost up until the end. The cancer also didn’t seem to attack Esther’s body so stealthy and with as much accuracy as Nancy’s did. When I said my final goodbye to Esther, she looked like Esther. Her cheeks were still pump and rosy, her color was as it had always been. When Nancy had told me it was back and there wasn’t much they could do, this was what I hoped Nancy would get on her path to heaven. I was wrong.

Nancy and I had become friendly years before either of our diagnoses. Her grandson and my son were the best of buds. Nancy and her husband did much of the day to day stuff for her grandkids so we often sat and chatted at practices and games. Prior to Covid we spent almost every weekend in the summer with one another at swim meets. Towards the end of 2017 Nancy told me about her breast cancer diagnosis, and a few months later I would have that same conversation with her about myself.

There is a special bond that forms amongst cancer patients, and for Nancy and me, it brought us closer together. We were not the same age, our cancers were vastly different, but we seemed to be in the same spot in life. Her raising her young grandboys and me raising my own kids. For me, she became a dear “mom friend” that merged into something more treasured. She made you find a way to smile, all the time, and never let anything get in her way . To put it simply, I loved her.

So each day I drove the hour or so to her home, and prayed that the cancer would stop its progression. As her body got skinnier, and skinner, and the tumors grew pressing on her brain and spinal cord, I begged for it to stop. I knew it wouldn’t. You feel helpless as you watch the decline becoming excruciatingly more painful each day. There was nothing I could do but sit next to her hospital bed in the center of her home. Each day I brought pictures and stories of the antics of her grandson and my son. On good days she would hold your hand and smile, but more often, she was unable to open her eyes or speak. The last thing she said to me was that she just wanted to go home because she hurt so bad. It would take three more weeks after that for her to finally be called home a few days shy of Christmas.

When I received word that Esther had passed I was mad. There was a feeling of irritation that this disease had taken her, a woman so full of life and love. When Nancy passed all I could think was, finally. Finally, the disease would stop its deadly assault. Finally, the pain would be removed. Finally, she got to go home and be at peace. I was grief stricken but so overjoyed that Nancy was done with her fight.

It isn’t about me but when you lose another friend to cancer it begs to be asked, “why am I still here?” Scott will say because I am young and healthy. But my friend’s wife was younger than me and healthy, she didn’t make it. I am left with this feeling that God must have something he needs me to do, but I don’t know what that is. My heart wants me to believe it is to be a mother and wife because that is what I most want to stay on this Earth for. But most women that die from this disease are both as well.

I guess I just wanted anyone reading this to know that surviving cancer is as hard as having it. You are never fully alleviated from the fear that comes with the question, “is it going to kill me?” because if, or when, it doesn’t you are left wondering why it didn’t, and when it might.