Sarah said I have a type. And then I as we hugged in pain from the news, Steve said the same thing, “you have a type.”

I guess by that they meant that I loved sharing my life with a partner who also shared my curiousity, creative sense of play and exploration, and whose work complemented my own as we supported each other’s pursuits. The implication, however, was that they often worked with materials that were toxic, or shared the habits of their generation such as heavy smoking and drinking, suffering the consequences of the indiscretions of youthful hubris.

The sad part is that there are no guarantees on longevity. None of us gets an assurance on how long we have on this earth, on how much time we have to spend with our loved ones. And no amount of love, no matter how deep, will keep them here on this earth if their fate is meant to be somewhere else.

[N]o amount of love, no matter how deep, will keep them here on this earth if their fate is meant to be somewhere else.

Not Again

Steve had been feeling sick since late September and was finally able to get a telehealth doctor’s visit in late October. That lead to an immediate trip to the ER due to pleural effusion and three days in the hospital. More follow-up doctor’s visits and then another visit to the ER and a week in the hospital, collapsed lung, more thoracentesis, CT scans, pathologies, and finally a confirmed diagnosis – stage IV non-small cell lung cancer adenocarcinoma. Followed by biopsies, colonoscopy/endoscopy, and PET-CT and finally a meeting with the oncologist.

Treatment would be palliative to keep the cancer from spreading further. Depending on the analysis of tissue from the biopsy, it would include immunotherapy, or a combination of immunotherapy and chemotherapy. Prognosis was dependent on the outcome of that treatment – months or years.

In dark times like this, sometimes a morbid sense of humor results. “I thought I had a 10-year warranty on our marriage!” I said to Steven as we shared a quiet celebration of our 8th anniversary this week. “And I intended to renew it with another 10-year extended warranty!” Geez.

Preparing for the holidays…

This past weekend Steve was able to fit in some moments of normalcy between naps and directing from his stressless recliner as visiting family members helped with chores that culminated in decorating a much smaller Christmas tree that I’d ordered. At half the size of the 12′ tree we’ve had the past few years, the smaller 6-1/2 footer allowed me to manage its assembly and grandkids to help with decorations without a ladder. The job was done in a matter of hours instead of days. Although not the grand tree we usually had, it put a smile on Steve’s face and that’s what mattered to me most.

The new 6-1/2 ft tree was decorated with help from family including grandchildren. It replaced the 12-1/2 ft tree that normally fills the room but that takes two adults on ladders to do. This smaller tree was put up and decorated in a day and still managed very nicely to make everyone smile with gratitude and appreciation.

And an anniversary

When we first started dating, he’d show up at my door with two roses in his hand and a silly grin on his face. It always made me smile in return and lightened my heart. Steve gives the best hugs and so it has been my goal to return those hugs and their healing power as much as I can and he’s willing to accept them as his body fights back.

Copper orange roses for our 8th anniversary.

So on our 8th anniversary this week, I brought him a dozen copper orange roses, a box of chocolates, and a Hallmark card. These were what he would have brought me but driving hasn’t been his option for the last two months. So I did it for both of us. His lip quivered a bit fighting back tears as he read the card and saw the roses. I split them up – 8 in one vase for the years we’ve been together, and another 4 for blessings going forward.

Dinner and The Voice

We sit here and watch the finale performances for this season’s The Voice. We’re in the new bed I bought, a split adjustable king bed that would allow Steve to raise and lower his back and legs to help him breath and get a bit more comfortable. 

This afternoon, while I was in online meetings and student reviews in my home office, Steve was riding the tractor down the hillside out back with John following so they could hook up the plow blade for the inevitable snowfall we anticipate for the winter, yet haven’t seen much of yet.

I was part horrified when I learned of his joyriding out back while holding back my critique as he looked at me painfully while trying to eat his dinner. He’d been asking me to make this dish he saw on Facebook – baked honey sesame chicken which was basically a sweet and sour chicken – and so I made it. But that pained look told me he was struggling to eat it – not because he didn’t like the taste, but because as soon as he starts to eat, his stomach says “no more.” 

“Did you feel almost normal when you were riding around on the tractor?”
“Yes, almost.”
“Then it was worth it.”

“How have you been feeling?” I asked. “Crappy all over,” he replied. “It’ll be okay,” I replied. But he broke down. He didn’t like this crappy feeling, he said between tears. “Did you feel almost normal when you were riding around on the tractor?” I asked him, touching his arm gently. “Yes, almost,” came the reply between the slowing sobs. “Then it was worth it,” I whispered.

But deep inside, I wondered how many more of these “close to normal” moments there would be in his future. 

Silken Windhounds, Louie (white and tan) and Ralph (dark grey and black) curl up beside Steve as he watches the singers on The Voice between short naps.

As I write this, Steve munches on some Lays Waves potato chips, craved from the power of suggestion as The Voice’s Blake Shelton did a shtick where he steals the Voice award by swapping the award sitting on a pedestal rigged with an alarm with a bag of Pringles. Steve looks happy. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say all was normal as both Ralph and Louie are curled up with their heads against his side. How I long for this moment of normalcy to last.