Pros

I am on round 2 of 6 chemo treatments. I am less terrified the second time around. But new things come up. There is so much to process at such a rapid rate.

Kayla and I are nearing our one year wedding anniversary. The idea of qualifying our relationship in such a way is what inspired me to start this blog. We were rookies when we met. We had under our belts failed attempts at intimacy and failed relationships, a poor standard of communication and little to no example of how it could be done. But we found in each other the need to prevail at this. We found a desire to learn, to grow, to bend and to fight full heartedly for something that was separate from ourselves. Commitment. Marriage. Fidelity. Family.

And here we are. Our marriage is almost a year old. And we have my cancer to contend with. And sometimes I feel like all I think about is the cancer. I think what happens is that we are both so busy kicking ass at kicking cancer in the ass that we forget to check in, to connect. We carry on with our lives, convincing ourselves and each other and the world around us that everything is going to be fine.

Only a few short months ago I felt so youthful. I was visualizing my pregnancy. The youthful thirty something with the baby bump and the glowing skin, practicing yoga with my long thick hair twisted into a bun, pedicured feet, contented smile...Kayla building furniture for the nursery, tool belt and tight T-shirt clad...

Now, I notice myself in conversations, reminding anyone who will listen that even though my last chemo treatment is in April, that is not the end of this little detour. I still have a year of herceptin, possibly five years of hormone blockers (or not), check ups, scans, loss of fertility, plastic tits, hot flashes, ovarian cancer screenings, the list goes on... Plus, I have a strong suspicion based on the way we survivors cling to one another in online forums, long after treatment is done, that this is a ride I will forever be on. I think I'm nervous that everyone without cancer's expectation of me, that my wife's expectation of me, is that after chemo, then after I get my new boobs, that everything is going to go back to "normal". But, what will I have lost? Can I even fathom that now? During treatment there is little room for mourning and loss. It is all I can do to keep my spirits high enough to fight. And I manage to be strong, to be positive, to be fearless. But in this trial there are hundreds of little ropes, and eventually I reach the end of each one...and the fears come tumbling out.

But she's scared too. And when we finally stop flexing and curtsying for the world for a moment, and talk to each other, I realize this. There are moments like these that I believe are born of our love, commitment and our determination to see each other through life, regardless of what that life looks like. So when I blubber into her shirt that I'm scared of her expectations, that I can't be sure that I have resolved myself the desire to carry our child, that I'm afraid I may still break down when this is over, and that I may need help, that I find it still so fucking difficult to relate to anyone without cancer, she doesn't seem disappointed. She reminds me that besides me, she is the person carrying the heaviest load from this. And that when this is all over she may need to break down too. And there are no expectations. Except for the one. That each of us would maintain the need and desire to be married with one another. I think you could call us pros.