Diagnosis Anniversary

A year ago today, my world 🌎 cracked and the sharp edge of cancer pierced me straight to the core of my soul. A year ago today, the doctor called us back in for a consultation after having had an MRI @ 8:00 AM, a consultation we weren’t supposed to have for another five days.

I remember driving down hwy 280 white knuckling the steering wheel, knowing the worst was about to come. I remember praying feverishly in my head for God to give me strength & perseverance to face what we feared the most, already knowing Jamey had a cancerous tumor, but not yet knowing the severity.

I remember hearing the words “Stage 4,” “time to get your affairs in order, “a year to live.” (Side note: we only got another 10 months, not 12.)

I remember hearing someone wailing “No! This can’t be! I can’t live without Jamey.” I remember realizing the wailing was coming from me. Meanwhile Jamey, ever stoic, ever calm, literally even in the face of death, merely sat stupefied, & asked for some time to sit outside. Together we walked outside; we passed the fountains, the people, & he led us to a shady spot facing away from the hospital, away from the news. I sat behind Jamey & wrapped my arms and legs around him, head on his back, & just held him & weeped. He held my hands to his chest & said something to the effect that he just didn’t think it was his time yet. He didn’t feel ready. He couldn’t believe it was his time. Oh, but it wasn’t, yet still it was. (Psalm 139:16b All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.”)

I’d like to say that was the worst day of my life but it wasn’t, but it definitely ranks up there with many of the horrible minutes, hours, days, and weeks to come. Days spent coaxing Jamey into taking the pain meds and then hours managing the Oxy hallucinations. Minutes spent watching Jamey literally crawl from the kitchen to our bed holding a barf bag after a procedure he insisted on coming home from as opposed to spending the night in the hospital. Time disconnecting him from the chemo pump or emptying & changing his colostomy bag.

And while just typing out all that awfulness fills my eyes with tears, walking alongside Jamey during those dark & horrible hours was an honor & a privilege I would not trade. I’m thankful it was me. “…in sickness and in health, to death do us part.”

Now I tell our girls that one day, when they consider marrying ⛪️ someone, they need to make sure that their someone is not just handsome and fun, but someone whose character & soul speaks to theirs. They need to make sure that they love them truly and deeply, deeply enough to walk them to the light, if God calls them home.

(And of course there will be no marriage consideration unless all parties involved have had their colonoscopies. Kidding, not kidding. 😂)

But now, truly, I pity our girls, because I’m a much less stoic patient, & so when my time comes, since my person is gone, I will fall on their shoulders. And it will be up to them to walk me to the light. Fortunately they will at least have each other, & they will be able conquer & divide time with Mom. 😂😂

Lesson to all the parents: Be kind to your children, or it might be a lonely light walk.