The Cancer Diary - The Conversation

If you don’t know me or haven’t followed me long in social media you may not know my husband has brain cancer. Right temporal and insular astrocytoma. He had a resection, radiation, and chemo. The surgeon was able to remove a little more than 50% of the affected tissue and as of August 2017 he was in remission in the sense that there was no new growth. They say he should expect 15 years before reoccurrence. 

By summer of 2018 we were starting to feel like a “normal family again.” We hung out at the shore, and in the city. We had dinner parties again, and a lightness returned to our home. 

Before his surgery we were faced with my husband’s mortality. What you don’t even think about is at the time of such intense sorrow, you have to think about 401ks, stock, insurance, and how the family will go on if he doesn’t wake from surgery. Then you hold your breath during every follow up visit. So when you start to feel the lightness return, you put away the logistical talk because you are in a hurry to not have to think about it anymore.

So that’s where we were until last night. My husband and I were talking about moving and about the mortgage and our home’s equity. He said one thing. “Well maybe we should do ___so that we’ll have a bigger cushion just in case of an emergency.” And that opened the Pandora’s box. The reminder that we cannot take financial risks because he may not be here in 15 years, or even in 5 years. In 5 years my 2 youngest will be 9 and 21, and mourning a father. And I’ll be 50. I’ll need financial flexibility more than ever. If it’s 15 years, I’ll be 60 and my youngest 19. 

We have the conversation about how much it will be to prolong his life and try all trials, versus opting for no more treatments so as to not drain us economically in the end when he’s gone. That’s a real conversation. It’s a depressing conversation to have, especially when you were having a quiet evening; laying in bed reading. Then the atmosphere changes, your stomach hurts, and the lights around you seem dimmer. 

So remission isn’t the great eraser that some may think it is. Even if you go back to living and planing, it’s there. It’s always there. Just waiting to be called to the surface.