Dave

Oh boy, where do I even start on this post?  Back when I found the lump in my breast, I did what any smart woman would do.......I denied it and I gave it time to go away......yeah, no, that’s not what smart women do.  But that is what I did because I convinced myself that it was just a fibroid tumor.  A week after finding it, I mentioned it all to Dave.  I made him feel it.  I remember his exact words, “Just for fun, why don’t you get that checked out at the doctor’s?”  I called the next day.  From the minute that I got my diagnosis of breast cancer, Dave sprang into action.  He googled, and read, and talked to people, and developed a strategy for me.  All the while, I was a deer in headlights.  No, I was more of an ostrich with my head in the sand.  I was not ready to tackle this type of problem.  Our lives were too busy.  I had two 4 year olds.  I had just dropped my 18 year old off at his first year of college.  The holidays were coming.  Thank God for Dave.  He took control and made phone call after phone call to schedule consultations with doctors and second opinions and third opinions and fourth, fifth, and sixth opinions.  And just to make sure, he called and scheduled us to spend an entire day at Cleveland Clinic seeing six more doctors!  During all of these appointments, my brain was in complete shutdown.  I was not processing all that I was hearing.  It was too much to take in.  It was scary as hell.  Dave listened and asked the questions and remembered everything.  He UNDERSTOOD everything.  To this day, I can not tell you what kind of cancer I have, but I know Dave can.  We would go to these doctor appointments, pay the fees, listen, and then go out to breakfast or lunch together to talk.  I remember the first conversations when he told me that it didn’t matter to him if I even had breasts.  But, it mattered to me.  I’m not going to lie, I was angry.  I was angry about going to all these second opinions.  I just wanted this over and this was dragging it out.  I took my anger out on him.  The next thing he did was hook me up with a counselor and drove me to the appointments and waited for me.  I didn’t want to see a counselor, but he knew I needed to.   He struggled to juggle his job along with my physical and mental health.  Then, finally, came my surgery.  I honestly cannot remember how long my surgery was - maybe 8 hours?  He was there the whole time and even updated my blog for me. Then I spent 4 days in the hospital, in misery.  And every minute of it, he was there.   Every time I woke up.  He slept in a chair next to my hospital bed every night. He checked in on the kids, the house, our cat.  When I was released to go home, he learned how to measure and empty my four drains - when I could not physically or emotionally deal with them.  A disgusting job.  He got my medications in order and kept me on a schedule for everything.  I was still an unhappy camper.  I was still angry about everything to do with my situation.  I could not see the forest for the trees at that point.  He stopped traveling for the 6 (or was it 8?) weeks that I was home.  He took me to all my appointments.  Then came chemo.  Boy, if I thought I was angry and unhappy before......that was nothing compared to the six months of chemo days.  I took out all my frustrations on him.  And he never backed down.  Not even when I was at my lowest points.  When I was ugly inside and out.  He was there.  Quietly there.  Always. He rubbed my feet.  He loved and took care of me when I wasn’t a bit lovable or a bit thankful for his help.  And when I was too sick to eat or stand or care....when I couldn’t sleep through the night.......when I was in pain......he was there. I  wouldn’t have made it without him.