Cancer Sucks, Life at No.22, The Good Fight

Keeping up the Good Fight #8

Suzanne

They say your best written work comes when you write what you know. I’ve decided to share more personal thoughts on what we have lived and breathed for quite some time.

What it’s like to love and care for someone who now has terminal cancer. Those raw ups and downs and intimate emotions that hammer through your body and the fear and anxiety, including the deep sense of closeness and connection.

It’s tough loving someone who might die at any time. There was a time when that thought didn’t even enter our minds.

The endless question, “How are you feeling?”, is asked in various tones to jazz it up. Obviously, this whole situation and answering that question is still more problematic for the actual person. That’s the most succinct way I can put it. There is so much more nuance to a relationship with someone battling the big C.

I’ve written about the experience in various other posts under The Good Fight, and I still haven’t felt I have been able to properly articulate things that are still rattling around in my mind. Gawd forbid I will ever be able to actually verbalise all that shyte. My future sympathies to that person who gets the position of listener extraordinaire.

What I’ve found most striking since the end of 2018 isn’t the hardship we’ve been through. It doesn’t take a whole lot of imagination to think about how you’d feel if your partner were diagnosed with the big C.

It’s more about the strange silver linings, like how the important things in life come into laser-sharp focus, how we’ve become more determined than ever to acknowledge and be grateful that we took the bull by the horns and led a life that we absolutely enjoyed and thrived on. Blissfully chatting about our exploits at 3 am, like it was a natural thing people do or how we have forgiven each other a thousand little things that before would have annoyed us no end.

There are also random things that I especially think about daily that I would never say aloud, in case I hurt someone’s feelings or anger another. Though somehow, I feel okay putting it into written form, some for my eyes only and many other blog posts for you, the reader, to contemplate your thoughts on what I’ve written.

This week’s weird thoughts

Here’s a goodie that has a thousand different ways to view it. The afterlife. Where will he go?

There is plenty of written imaginative material about heaven and hell. Though, when thinking about it seriously, it’s hard to grasp. Some like to believe that when you die, that’s it, all over, just turn the lights off. Maybe that’s a complex concept to come to terms with, mainly because no one wants to imagine what it would be like not to feel. Not even picturing it as a never-ending sleep does the idea any justice for me.

At this stage, my thoughts range from a part of Les will live alongside me, be that a shining star, that wave hitting the sand so softly, a bird, a totara tree, or that most colourful rainbow. These weird and wonderful thoughts feel pretty strange when the person you love is still alive. However, I think it’s normal to think about what life will be like after they go and what life will look like. We talk about it, and oh my goodness, the results are stunningly funny and dark.

So, there you have it: some random thoughts from me, who feels some days she has the resilience of an elephant as she adapts to changing conditions with remarkable flexibility, though on others, not so much.

Catch up another day with more enlightenment.

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Published by Suzanne

I'm a lover of creativity and movement, expressed through photography, words, travel and sports. . . . . . .

46 thoughts on “Keeping up the Good Fight #8”

  1. I suspect, Suzanne, that some of your questions could be answered by people who have already lost their partner (I’m thinking specifically Becky here, but I shouldn’t put such a burden on her). I have a reasonably healthy husband (though he could adopt better eating habits, but he won’t- awkward cuss!) but I still lie awake at night wondering about the ‘what ifs’ and how life will be if he dies before me. So many unknowns, hon, but you’re not alone in watching your partner battle terminal cancer. And that won’t be a bit of help! I’m glad you and Les have had such a great relationship and a good life, but that must make it harder to say goodbye. I want to hug you both! xx

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    1. Thanks for your lovely thoughts, Jo. Yes, in some ways only people who are in the same situation fully understand. Though that doesn’t undermine anyone else who shares their thoughts. You did make me smile about your husband stubbornly not eating as well as you would like. There’s always a bugbear even in the best of relationships 😉 We have had a brilliant life and travelling together. I hope that by writing some of what I write will help others as some days it’s a lonely journey even though we have so much support to call on. Thanks again, Jo xxoo

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    1. Thanks, Shazza and I feel that we are strong women when it comes to supporting those we love. It just needs to be done and honouring those promises we made to each other. Every day is different xx

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    1. Thanks, Anabel. As the girls at basketball always say, a girl can’t have too many hugs 🙂 Never losing our perspective on life and our ability to laugh is a blessing.

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  4. It’s tough loving someone who might die at any time. Yes it is. I was primary caretaker for my mother who wanted to die at home. And she did, but there is an emotional toil that comes from honoring a dying person’s last request. I know you’ll do well, my thoughts are with you.

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    1. Thanks Ally and you’re right I will do well with coping as I owe it to Les and myself to keep being strong. I watched my father die in hospital and I am hoping that won’t be the place for Les. We have been told that we will be introduced to Palliative Care and Hospice before we actually need it, so we can all get to know each other.

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  5. Thank you for sharing your thoughts with us. What you and your husband are going through must be incredibly difficult and painful. You are lucky to have each other. You are also lucky to have lived life so well… so many memories of travel adventures.

    Although we are both currently in good health, I’d be lying if I said that our eventual demise isn’t something my husband and I think and talk about. Not all the time but we’d be foolish to think that death will pass us by. The best we can do is live our best lives and keep our loved ones close. Hug often, express love and gratitude whenever we can. xx

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    1. Thanks, Janis. Isn’t it funny how we take our health and life for granted with little thought given to it eventually changing. Until it does. I suppose with no children like yourselves there are different things to process and work out. Yes, we will always be grateful, that we sold up our small orchard, brought a motorhome, saw our country and eventually housesat for years. More importantly, treating each other with respect, love and space to be ourselves. Hug often, express love and gratitude are on the top of the list. Thanks again, Janis xx

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  6. I’m so sorry about your husband! My husband also had cancer, but we were lucky in that it was life-changing, but not terminal. So I understand the stress of being a care-giver, but I have been spared knowing that my husband might die at anytime. I hope you find the strength to deal with such an incredibly difficult situation, that you trust in yourself, and that you find the support you need. Take care!

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    1. Cancer is certainly life changing, we aren’t the same people as before it all happened. Life seemed more carefree and obviously far happier. That said, we are happy that we had the life that we did. Many die with so many regrets, that won’t happen with Les. We never want to say goodbye to anyone we love, especially when it’s before their time.
      I’m pleased to hear that your husband is cleared of cancer, it’s an awful disease that affects so many. Weirdly, longevity runs in both our families. Take care too.

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  7. Thoughts of my or my husband’s impending death are always on my mind, Suzanne. We’ve had a few close calls but, well, we are still here. So, I think it only natural what you are going through, and also very, very draining. And weird. Like an out of body experience. Sorry to go on. Why should death be such a taboo subject? It IS the elephant in the room.
    PS. Life without humour is not really living, is it?

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    1. Exactly my point, Tracy, death is part of life and we’ve always been open about it since his transplant failed much to the discomfort of some family members. That’s for them to deal with, I hated the elephant in the room situation. It is like an out of the body experience, it’s happening. When that feeling gets overwhelming I go for a walk and listen to music. I walk a lot. PS Life is misery without humour, got to keep it real 🙂

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  9. I can’t imagine the range of emotions you go through on a daily basis. I guess you have no choice but to just roll with it and value each moment together – both the good and the bad. Sending hugs, gorgeous sunrises, coffee and cake, and something stronger when you need it most. Melx

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    1. Thanks, Mel. We have many good moments with treats thrown in after hospital visits. It all balances out and still leaves us feeling fortunate for the opportunities we have enjoyed together. Sunrises are special, aren’t they xx

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  10. Oh dear Suzanne I can feel for you. It must be so difficult to contemplate the future. But this post gives us all much to think about. Death is inevitable but it is a subject that is very hard to face. I admire how you deal with it, and how you can write about it. As you say having good memories to talk about would be a blessing. I’m sending you another virtual hug

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  13. Words fail me Suzanne. I don’t know what it is like to be in your position, but I sense that you and Les have a strong relationship and you obviously find a way to get through every day you have together. Laughter and tears. The way of the world. Virtual hugs to you both (( ))
    Jude xx

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    1. Thanks, Jude. It’s a complex subject to get our heads around; most have a fantasy dream that we will quietly go in the dead of night while sleeping. I wish 😉 In some ways, it all hasn’t hit us yet; it will be closer to the time. One witty family friend had someone speak at his funeral, “Sorry I can’t be here, I’m getting on with life”.

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  14. I think you do indeed have ‘the resilience of an elephant’ to be dealing with this in the way that you are, with a degree of humour and a lot of honesty. Your appreciation of the good times you have enjoyed also shines through your posts. Not all of us are living with a husband (or wife) ‘who might die at any time’ and yet in a way we are, as none of us knows what each day has in store for us. Also, many of us may have to deal with the challenges you face some time in the future. If that is the case for me I hope I can do so with just a fraction of your courage and resilience.

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    1. Thanks very much, Sarah. I appreciate that many of us over a certain age there is a higher chance of death occurring, most of those thoughts of life finishing never enter our heads. Our basic instinct is to survive, to live unless the person is prone to morbid thoughts, poor them. I love how you and yours are making the most of your time together. For me, there is no regret when we do that. My biggest way of coping is via exercise, it has a calming effect or me, well, most of the time 😉

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  15. It seems that these kinds of diagnoses do tend to focus your attention on what matters most. It sounds like the two of you are putting that into action, making what matters most the priority and setting aside petty irritations (though of course, they do still irritate). Laws of conservation of energy and matter (flips sides of a coin) mean that our energy is always out there somewhere. Your molecules and Les’s entangled for eternity. Hugs 🤗 to you both.

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  16. Thinking of you Suzanne, especially in the dark moments. Our daughter had cancer and for some years the outcome was an uncertain one, her treatment was successful but I remember how completely helpless we felt watching what was happening to her. Keep strong, keep walking, keep loving

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    1. Thanks, Jim. For a parent to have a child sick with cancer would’ve been heart destroying. I’m glad to hear she’s ok now. In many ways, that experience will never leave her or you. It all makes us stronger.

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      1. Thank you Suzanne, she’s been in remission for a number of years now so we are thankful, illness certainly focuses our minds on the things that really matter, you know this of course and I’m glad that you and Les can still laugh and that you have led a full life together with so many memories 😍

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  17. I can’t imagine anyone navigating your journey better than you, Suzanne. Your presence, your questions, your wondering, your recognition of the silver linings, and your willingness to face and share your feelings are all gracefully human. Thank you and bless you both.

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    1. Thanks very much, Diane, for your kind comment. Maybe someone else in a similar situation won’t feel so alone or beat themselves up for having thoughts that they think aren’t sitting right with them.

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  18. To know that death is near is both full of dread and a privilege. Having a good death is a wonderous thing when it is possible and part of that is truly living each day, you have already proved that. “What is essential is invisible to the eye.” In strength, peace and love.

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    1. Thank you, Ruth. You have encapsulated exactly it all by writing that it is indeed full of dread and a privilege. With especially what we see with our eyes is what is essential. As I sit waiting for Les to finish have more blood tests completed.

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