Over nine years ago he made many promises to me. He has kept all of those promises. One of his promises was to take care of me always in every way.
Less than two years ago our life took a sudden turn. Dan was full of energy and feeling totally healthy, but tests indicated that a congenital heart condition the doctors had been monitoring had worsened, and without undergoing open heart surgery, soon, his first symptom of the heart problem would be his death. He would be dead within two years.
My Danny didn’t even hesitate, he had promised to take care of me. He was not going to leave me. He chose to risk this very scary surgery where he would be put on a lung machine that would breath for him and a heart machine that would pump his blood throughout his body for him. The heart machine and lung machine would keep him alive for several hours while the doctors repaired his heart. And maybe, just maybe my Dan would wake up hours later and his new heart would be pumping and his lungs would inflate and he would be breathing again without all the machines.
But there was a long time, hours, that I had to plead with him while he was unconscious to “please breath, please wake up for me, for us”. Finally he heard me and took a deep breath and started to breath. He had promised to take care of me so he started breathing. He kept his promise.
Dan is my hero. He is my Superman. When I brought him home after his heart surgery I gave him a Superman t-shirt. He now uses it every night for his night shirt.
Twenty months later, this spring, after numerous tests, we were told that now Dan has an aggressive prostate cancer. And here we were in the midst of the first wave of the Coronavirus pandemic! The doctors gave him choices of treatment with different data on survival and life expectancy.
My Dan faced this cancer head on and asked the doctors, “What are my best chances and would you tell your father to do?” And that is exactly we decided to do. Dan put his trust in following the course of treatment that his doctor would want for his own father. He had asked the same question of his Cardiologist. Doctors present options, but basically they know which option is the best to take.
He is keeping his promise to me. He is going to get well and he is taking care of me.
Five days a week, for nine weeks Dan is getting external beam radiation treatments. Since we are in the middle of a pandemic he has to go to all his appointments alone, without me. He had a picture made of us together hiking our in our beloved desert and he keeps it in his pocket, next to his heart. He says he is not alone, I am with him always.
I drive Dan to the Cancer and Research Center and watch him put on a face mask and plastic gloves and walk in alone (with my picture next to his heart). I have never been allowed in this building. To me it is a black hole that swallows up my Dan. When he emerges from this huge ominous building he gives me a loving smile and says, “one more done!”
He is so very courageous. He never complains. He tells me each day how his treatment goes and if he met with the doctor, what the doctor has said. He tells me that when he enters this building everyone is wearing a mask and these masked nurses and technicians give him directions to move from one place to another and at times it is like he is a piece of luggage going through airport security. But he is not alone, I am with him.
These past few weeks as I wait in the parking lot for Dan to complete his daily treatment, I have watched hundreds of people (most all of them look very sick sick and in pain) put on their face masks and bravely go into this dark building to try to get better. All the staff is working so hard to give these many cancer patients the treatment they need to have a chance to live.
Some days this summer Dan has come back to the car, where I am waiting for my love, and he tells me of a technician or a nurse who (he imagines but can’t be sure because they are all wearing masks) has smiled and wished him a nice day or asked about his wife who he has told them is waiting for him in the parking lot. He thanks them for their smile and lets them know how much this means to him and all the other patients (especially those who have no one who is waiting for them) who enter this building and are scared about their health, their future. That is my Dan, always being thankful and seeing so much good in people, in the world.
The radiation treatments are killing the cancer cells that don’t have the ability to recover, but it is also killing the healthy cells in the prostate gland and surrounding lymph nodes, so there are side effects. These healthy cells will recover but Dan is often tired and is uncomfortable, experiences pain, gastrointestinal and urinary issues, and often just doesn’t feel “right.”
Week by week and day by day the side effects are getting more severe. But he doesn’t complain. He is having trouble sleeping due to the discomfort. And our morning bike rides are becoming more difficult. After I have watched Dan have another sleepless night, I turn off the blaring alarm clock and roll over to cuddle with him. I expect that he may want to skip our bike ride, to try to get more sleep before his treatment in the morning. He holds me for a moment and then sleepily says, “let’s go ride Daisy.” (Daisy is our tandem bike).
Dan believes that having side effects from the radiation treatment is a good thing. His theory is that since the side effects are caused by the healthy cells working hard to heal and recover from the treatments, that if there were no side effects than the radiation wouldn’t be killing the nasty cancer cells as well. When Dan explained his reasoning on why having side effects of radiation treatment is a good thing, his doctor seemed surprised but didn’t discount or deny the logic of the theory.
Dan is determined that each day will be a good day. He says, “we will only have today once, so let’s make it a good day.” And we do make it a good day! We get up at 2:30 am to avoid the heat and people (we are old so we are at high risk to catch the coronavirus and Dan is especially high risk with his cancer) and we ride Daisy for an hour. Then we walk 4+ miles on the many golf course paths and around the numerous small lakes in our old folks’ community.
Here we are on our walk...under a full moon. We get to have Leisure World all to ourselves for about two hours.
At the end of our walk the sun rises over the mountains. Our home is at the end of the fairway.
Dan has two days off to rest and recover with no radiation on the weekends, sort of like when we used to go to work. His body heals a bit without the daily treatments killing cells and if he is feeling well enough, we get to dance together....a special treat to look forward to at the end of a long week!
And today I got to dance in my Dan’s arms to our beautiful, romantic music...
Three and a half hours after the alarm jars us out of our sleep we are done cycling and walking and back home. Finally, I get to bring Dan a delicious, hearty breakfast that conforms with the weird diet that he is required to be on for his radiation treatments.
Today’s special was my Vicky McGraybill breakfast sandwich (egg, bacon, and cheese) that Dan’s favorite breakfast.
We both believe that exercising and staying strong is imperative to his recovery and survival. Often Dan would rather stay in bed at 2:30 am and is in pain, but he is determined to getting well. So he gets up and we start another good day.
And then after breakfast it is time for another radiation treatment....16 treatments done.....29 to go. Soon we will be half done! We are counting the days, but making each day a good day.
My Danny is keeping his promise. He is taking care of me. He will beat this nasty cancer! We will beat it together!
Dan is my hero. He is my Superman. On Father’s Day I gave him a small statue of the original Superman, George Reeves, as he flies through the sky. This is the Superman we watched as children in the 1950s. It even plays the Superman theme song.
But the real Superman is my husband, Dan!
No comments:
Post a Comment