A view from the side

It’s Valentine’s Day. 2020. In a few weeks, the world will shut down for the COVID-19 Pandemic.

But right now, in this moment, I’m not thinking about COVID, or candy, or flowers. Here I am, standing in a quiet hallway in an otherwise busy hospital, trying to get my bearings on where to go from here.

We read all the time about what it feels like for someone to hear the words “You have cancer” told to them. But on this day, I was the person sitting beside that person in the oncologist’s office. I was the person trying to keep it all together while my wife felt like everything was coming apart.

See, one of the things every person needs when going through a rough patch is a helpful, loving support system. It doesn’t matter if it’s sickness, grief, bankruptcy, or whatever else is dragging someone down. There’s no way to get through these times alone.

But being part of that support system can be hard to handle, too. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t; it just means sometimes it’ll take more than a pat on the back or kind words to help someone get through the day. It’ll at times require you to do the not-so-nice things people don’t necessarily think about when deciding whether or not to help someone.

For example, have you ever had to break bad news to your 13-year-old son while, again, trying to hold it all together so he doesn’t feel the situation is hopeless? I do.

Or having to call your relatives and explain to them what’s going on? Yeah, did that, too.

Sure, many of you might say “So what’s the big deal? People get bad news all the time.” That’s fair. But also consider the fact that you’re talking about someone who’s now questioning their own mortality and telling you they “don’t want to die.”

Did I mention that all of this just happens within the first day? Oh yeah, there’s certainly more.

Thankfully for my wife, the doctors she had got together and put together a care plan right away. Meeting four new doctors within a three-week span. Marker placement. Surgery. Six weeks of recovery.

Hold on, though. We’re not nearly done yet.

Regular check-ups every few weeks. Having to carry and reach for everything because your wife has T-Rex arms for two months. Radiation that fries her underarm, requiring you to apply lotion to the area while she cries because it hurts so much.

Ready to throw in the towel yet? Trust me, there have been times I felt like it. Not because I’m lazy or just don’t care.

Because I’m human.

I’ve felt that way because it hurts to see a loved one suffer that way. It hurts to realize that, no matter how hard you try, you just can’t make it all go away.

You feel useless. Dejected. A failure. But you also know you have to help. Because it’s someone you love dearly.

Something I’ve felt many times over the last four years is what I can only describe as being similar to survivor’s guilt. You feel awful that it’s not you who is suffering. You’re tired and beat down from trying so hard to help, only to see improvement come in baby steps. But you’re afraid to say anything because you don’t want to sound selfish.

However… just because you feel this way doesn’t mean you’re selfish. Like I said, it means you’re human.

The key is figuring out what helps bring you comfort, what makes you happy, or what you can do to get a break every now and then. There’s nothing wrong with taking a break from caring for a loved one every once in a while, even if it’s just for a few hours. Find a hobby. Get some fresh air. You have a life to live, too.

Plus, your emotions can rub off on the person you’re caring for. If you’re feeling frustrated, take a walk. If you need someone to talk to, phone a friend. Take care of yourself, too.

And if you’re a friend or relative of someone taking on this responsibility, offer them a reprieve, even if it’s just for an hour or two one day. Because this doesn’t magically go away when they ring the bell at the end of radiation treatments.

Remember how I said it’s been four years now? There are still things we deal with every day.

Random pains in who-knows-where today? Check.

No energy because her hormones are suppressed? Check two.

Can’t sleep at night even though she went through the day with little to no energy? Trifecta!

But I’m still here. A bit more worn out and tired, but still here nonetheless. I’d be lying if I said it gets easier. I think it all just becomes part of your routine at some point.

Sure, there are still days when I’d like to throw in the towel. But what kind of person would that make me?