Why Can't She Have Normal Cancer?

Tonight I got mad at my wife. Not only does she have cancer but the thing is taking up so much real estate in her skull that she sometimes forgets how to get up out of a chair. So not only do we have to deal with the ins and outs of cancer treatment, but her personality at times can resemble that of a precocious 6 year old. She also has problems wetting the bed. After three mornings of wet sheets I am now an expert of how to get urine stains and odor out of a mattress - but that is another post.

I planned to make the idea of adult diapers fun and amusing. What a folly that was. (Note: See previous posts on making plans.) The long and short of it is, the plan didn't work. You see - having a honkin' big tumor sitting on your frontal lobe means you can kiss your "executive function" goodbye. You understand what you have to do and know the steps to do it but somehow the message to your body all gets scrambled and you just give up. So putting on this stupid, humiliating diaper contraption was not going to happen. I employed every tool in my newly formed arsenal: modeling behavior, re-direction, bribery with fresh berries - you name it. But that diaper was not going on.

I snapped. I did. I couldn't bear the thought of another morning of wet sheets and dousing the mattress with peroxide. I got pissed off with love of my life because she has a fucking brain tumor and can't respond to simple directions. What kind of person yells at someone with cancer who can't help the fact that their body has turned against them. Me - that's who.

Realizing and admitting your humanness is a difficult but worthwhile lesson. One that you cannot complete without agreeing to be totally vulnerable. Cancer makes it possible for you to have that lesson. It gives you the opportunity to walk to the edge of your life and look down. To become honestly and acutely aware of your frailties. Pick them up, turn them over, set them down - pick them up again if need be. Then close your eyes, hold out your hand and ask for forgiveness from the one who loves you so much she will stand on that edge with you, hold you, wipe away your tears and promise it is all OK.

So tonight my wife, who has sinonasel undifferentiated carcinoma - a rare and difficult to treat cancer, comforted me. And I let her.