Feelings from a husband watching cancer

Just before my 1st "Re-Birthday" I asked my husband to write a guest post for my blog.  The following is just that and although I've now read it a dozen times it still causes me to tear up.  Thank you Adam for your honesty and beautiful words.

We’ll Lose Count
365+, a.k.a. happy 1 year re-birthday to my wife. Such an important number, yet such an arbitrary number.

It has been 19 months of endless numbers. Success rates of non-Hodgkins lymphoma. Number of rounds of chemotherapy prior to the next step. Amount of money at which health insurance reimbursement is capped. Number of coughs each minute, each hour, each day. Number of bottles of Gatorade to be bought at the supermarket. Size of the Christmas tree to be purchased and put on the porch next to the bedroom for Christmas day celebrations. Size of the tumor. Number of meatloaves and lasagnas delivered to the house. Number of failed chemotherapy treatments. Months until my daughter’s 3rd birthday. Months my wife had left to live. Number of turnpike exits in New Jersey. Unrecognized phone numbers of those calling to express support. Cost of rent. Amount of money raised for research and support of those with blood  cancers. Number of people participating in a prayer vigil at time of transplant. Number of new cells turned lose to battle cancer. My wife’s weight. Score of the Phillies/Nationals game on a warm spring day. Minutes of travel time from Jane’s house to the National Institute of Health. Chimerism numbers. Yardage of the 8th hole at Sligo Creek, my personal sanctuary. Flight number of each “commuter” flight to Boston. Number of laps on and floors visited during romantic walks around NIH. Number of visits and posts of support on CaringBridge. Size of the community of cancer-warriors. Season number of West Wing that was currently in the DVD player. Number of days my wife went without food. Number of pandas sun bathing at the National Zoo. Number of doctors that make up my wife’s medical team. Number of pre-school teachers that my 3.5 year old daughter has had. Number of pills my wife takes each day. Number of friends and family battling every stage that is the nastiness of cancer. Number of visits to the emergency room and hospital for an “other-wise healthy” woman in her thirties. Number of blessings I’ve been granted each and every day.

A seemingly endless, sometimes senseless, and almost always relentless barrage of numbers. They all have meant so much, but they have also shown themselves to simply not be helpful enough. When faced with yet another number relating the percent chance of my wife’s survival late during the winter of 2010, a friend reflected that regardless of the number given by doctors there was only one side of the equation in which to fight towards. In the hurricane of numbers, one thing is clear... push forward bravely, passionately, and lovingly.

A balance between urgency and appreciating “the moment” is near impossible to strike. During the quest to survive, they are too often one in the same. The numbers have meaning, but must not drive my existence.

A few things I know about numbers:

• The measures and metrics of real science saves lives. Faith is what holds us all together throughout the non-linear process of living, dying, and everything in between.
• Percentages both give and steal hope. I refuse to believe them. Our number of days on this earth are unclear. Some days there will be a bounty of experiences left ahead. Others we will take time to smell the flowers as if it may be our last opportunity. I believe things are beatable despite having seen evidence to the contrary. Each of us are miracles each day… to ourselves and too others.
• There is always more money and more support needed to be given to battle diseases such as lymphoma that try to crush spirits, families, and lives.
• We all can use a person, or two, or two thousand sending prayers our way.

I now live with a rather dichotomous perspective. I have the comfort and patience in knowing that most day to day things are quite trivial in the grand scheme of things. At the same time, people really piss me off when they complain, question, and pout without showing a modicum of perspective. I cannot get enough of my wife’s smile, my daughter’s giggle, my family’s warm embrace, and quiet time with friends. Yet I still rush, rumble, and bumble to protect the fragile life that means so much to me. I dive each day towards the community of cancer even though I know it would be nice to run away from it real fast.

Sometimes living is like walking across an endless black abyss on a rickety wooden bridge. No set of numbers will fully engineer this bridge to bring it fully up to code. I’ll try to hold on just tight enough to not lose my grip and just loose enough to not smother the light that flows in life each day.

365+, someday we’ll lose count.