This Week

Tough week.

Probably the toughest of our young lives. And that is saying a lot because this family has been through hell. My immediate family and my extended family.

The fucking suffering and heartbreak and loss is overwhelming to me. I have witnessed the unjust suffering and wondered why? What does it mean to be a human being? What is the fucking point?

On Thursday morning, the good people of the Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center will wheel my wife away from me and towards the operating room. Where she will spend at least the next eight hours enduring delicate surgery inside her head.

There are specific moments from Carol's experience with the mastectomy that will stick in my mind forever. One of which was the moment when they wheeled her away from me to begin "the procedure".

A kindly individual was explaining to me where I could go to wait out the surgery and what type of support they would provide for me, but I heard nothing. I was not openly crying but you better believe there were tears escaping down my cheeks.

Helpless. Fucking helpless to protect my wife.

That surgery was estimated to take 3 hours. It took 5 and 1/2. This surgery is estimated to take "every bit of 8 hours", as the most recent surgeon we spoke to put it.

On the positive side: this is not technically brain surgery. The tumor is situated on the three nerves that affect Carol's hearing, balance and facial muscles. It is called an acoustic neuroma. It is benign 99.9% of the time. It is a slow growing tumor. If they cannot remove the entire thing it is not exceptionally dangerous because she will be 90 before it becomes a problem again.

Logically, we should be able to take great comfort in those facts.

But we are human. We are nervous.

This black cloud has been hanging over our heads for 4 months now, beginning with the twin diagnosis of breast cancer and the tumor. This reality is a palpable presence in our life, in our home, in our minds. It affects everything and it is relentless.

You cannot get comfortable; you cannot feel at ease.

The plan is to have Carol home by Sunday. Then, and only then, can we begin to reclaim our life. Slowly, and step by step because the recovery process takes at least a month and Carol will have to do exercises religiously to regain her balance.

But at least at that point we will be past this evil and know that these fucking cancers have been removed from Carol's body.

Carol and I used to watch "Hill Street Blues". Loved it.

I picked up an expression from that show that I have always loved. When someone got sick or went through a tough stretch, in support, people would say "I'll have a good thought".

Not "my thoughts and prayers" or any other clichéd bullshit. The phrase caught my attention because it is so basic, so simple. Which is what makes it so powerful to me. It strikes me as something a real human being would say.........................and feel.

So, beginning at 7:00 am on Thursday morning, or even earlier if you are so inclined, and if you care about Carol, my precious wife of 39 years who is an amazing balance of gentle, unselfish love and a warrior's spirit  - please do one thing for her.

Have a good thought.