Four years ago,
I wrote this:
“I was getting
ready to talk about how exercise can help in breast cancer recovery when I
realized that this is my 52nd blog entry.
“I realized that
there are 52 weeks in a year.
“I realized that
I’ve been doing this for a YEAR…
“How did that
happen?
“Hang on, let me
focus here, because it doesn’t seem possible that a year has passed since my
wife’s breast cancer diagnosis.
“How did we get
here?
“Baby steps.
Tiny steps. Setbacks. Leaps ahead. Nightmarishly hard work. Not by me. I was
benched. Unable to do a single thing but cheer the team on. Hold my wife’s
hand. Talk to doctors.
“Be as useless
as a third wheel on a unicycle.
“This has been a
year of standing aside. That sense of being sidelined is what started me
writing this blog. I wasn’t necessary for any of the procedures, the
administration of meds, the planning – and it certainly wasn’t necessary for me
to “endure” or “be strong”. All of those things were required of my wife, the
doctors, nurses, the hospital staff, oncology researchers, drug manufacturers,
health clinics, insurance companies, companies that pay the health insurance
premiums, God the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, prayer warriors. These were all
essential things in my wife’s struggle against breast cancer.
“I was not.
“In all my life,
this was perhaps the hardest thing I have ever experienced.
“I know, you
WEEP for me, right? The sarcastic and entirely justified reply – is ‘Oh, poor
you!’
“I feel like a
little four-year-old standing in a corner, stomping his foot in frustration and
crying out, ‘What about ME?’
“Lest you see me
in any worse of a third-wheel light, let me say that this blog, talking with
others and living a humble, invisible life has grown me into a new person. A
better person.
“Someone I
would never had become had it not been
for the past 52 weeks.
“I’m going to
leave it at that right now, but as I begin to come out of my closet and look at
the ‘new me’, I’ll be writing a few entries about it. So stay tuned. The next
52 weeks should prove to be interesting, too.”
TODAY: They were
interesting. The following 104 after that were, too. What I have discovered
though, is that the “doctors, nurses, the hospital staff, oncology researchers,
drug manufacturers, health clinics, insurance companies, companies that pay the
health insurance premiums, God the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, prayer
warriors. These were all essential things in my wife’s struggle against breast
cancer” WERE absolutely essential.
But they’re all
gone now. The furor died as the hospital visits tapered off, and now all of the
above are gone – and I’m the only one left.
So for those of
you who are at the beginning of the game and feel side-lined, that’s only for a
season. Maybe even two. But your commitment isn’t one as a “superstar” or MVP;
yours is in the role of a Chris Donley: “A Vikings season-ticket holder for 35
years, Chris Donley grew up in Minneapolis…Donley initially was diagnosed with
renal kidney failure on Sept. 12, 2012 [and died September 9, 2013].” A lifelong
fan. Unpaid. Unsung. “Just there.” For as long as you can be.
Yeah. I’d use
that cheesy emoticon grin, but if you’re reading this, you most likely know
what I mean...
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