Waiting To Exhale

Waiting to exhale….

Kevin completed his treatments at the end of April, when we learned that the 2-3 weeks following would be THE WORST EVER in terms of side effects.  The doctors weren’t wrong.  I truly thought the man would simply fade away, as getting food into him was a daily challenge, he had no energy, and most of the time, thought he was going to die… because he felt like … he was going to die. 

After 3 weeks, almost MAGICALLY, he started to eat!  His physical symptoms faded, he was BACK!  Well, almost.  I actually expected him to simply open his eyes, say, “Wow.  That sucked!” and have his full energy back, get into his “wow, I am retired, and look at all the things I can do NOW!” mode.  That didn’t happen.  He became almost reclusive; (well, compared to me… but compared to me, I suppose MOST people would appear reclusive!)  He seemed to fold in on himself.  Most of his days were spent reading, and most of his evenings, he seemed withdrawn, distracted…

I of course immediately went to MY default place of “ABANDONMENT!”   I didn’t realize it at first, until I started catastrophizing about … well, most people.  (for example, if the mailman was 15 minutes late, I was on the phone to the FBI to report a kidnapping…)  Maybe I wasn’t that bad… but people that are far away were definitely in my sights, and when I didn’t IMMEDIATELY hear back from a note or a text… I started imagining the worst… some I acted upon; some I did not (you do not know who you are, but unless you live right next door to me, just thank your lucky stars that my darkest fears stayed in my head!!!)  My abandonment issues helped Kevin … a LOT!  Okay… maybe not so much!!

I eventually got over myself (somewhat) and thought about what Kevin could POSSIBLY (maybe) be going through… such as… he retired 3 years ago, and 6 months later, went back as a consultant… was off for another 6 months or so… maybe longer, and went back as a consultant again, this time overseeing the entire revamping of the IT system at Cook Nuclear Power Plant, which meant the 9 months prior to his surgery, working 6 NIGHTS per week, 13 hours per night!  We lived for telephone calls and that 10 minutes every morning when we were both awake and upright!  When most people were awake, Kevin was sleeping, or driving to or from work …. Or working.  He had no life.  His last day at that was Friday; the following Tuesday morning, he was wheeled into surgery.  We had a week in the hospital, and then home to begin his recovery.  His life revolved around his wounds, and his recovery process.  Then he went into treatment; 6 weeks worth of daily radiation, weekly chemotherapy, and weekly hydration, with lymphedema massage therapy and the errant visit with the ENT to drain his lymphocyst.

As previously reported, he tolerated his treatment at the high end of the spectrum, but having said that, it was six weeks of mostly feeling exhausted, nauseous, or at best, not horrible.  Then the end of treatment came, followed by more hydration and more lymphedema massage.  And then… everything stopped.  He no longer felt crappy, he no longer had anyplace he had to be, or had to go.  Where do you BEGIN re-entry after all of that!

So… his re-entry means easing into it slowly… learning how to socialize, figuring out what lie ahead.  It’s hard to imagine… I remember how I felt after 2 weeks immersed in  Israel… it took at least a month before my life made sense; I can’t imagine what this must seem like to Kevin!  I think it’s going to take awhile before he is comfortable with much socializing.  He is still far from healed; he is still dealing with radiation effects that make talking uncomfortable; he is still dealing with impaired hearing that we are assured is just leftover fluid and swelling from surgery, but no one has presented a plan… and while he may be ‘way ahead of the curve for the reanimation of his facial nerve, it’s been almost 5 months, and he knows he has a ways to go.  As people aren’t his strong suit anyway… it’s just easier for him to just go inward, and process the way an introvert processes.

I’ve stopped sounding the alarm if my friends and family are not immediately responsive.  The FBI is happy that I am no longer calling them to report missing persons…and I’ve almost stopped staring at Kevin as though he will disappear in a blink of an eye.

My own re-entry is starting to come…I am slowly entering back into a social life…partly for me, and partly for Kevin, so he has some breathing space where I am not staring at him, expecting him to disappear in a puff of smoke.

Underlying all of it … is the world of “what if.”  What if there are cancer cells still lurking, and as soon as we breathe out – they will strike.  When his Oncologist recently had Kevin undergo CT scans… there it was… the “what if” that we both avoided saying, but could see in each others’ eyes.  Perhaps we held each other a little more closely… held each other’s hand a little more frequently…and did our best to lift each other up.  Faith has kept us strong, and didn’t let us down… but there was still that slight breath of fear in spite of it.

Today… we saw the Oncologist for the results.  With a beaming smile, he said, “YOU ARE OFFICIALLY IN REMISSION!”  Not a single cell awry; clean as a whistle.  He went into great depth, reassuring us at every turn.  And you could hear the exhalation for miles!!!  He is IN REMISSION!  Thanks Be To God!!