.: about.beverly's view

Almost every person has at least one date in which he or she feels life has been irrevocably changed. Marriage, childbirth, and for Christians, the day of his or her salvation are a few. Another is the day you come to recognize your mortality. We all know that we will die someday, but again that is someday. When a doctor puts a date stamp on it, things are viewed somewhat differently.

For us, that memorable day in which our world turned upside down was November 9, 2004; and Bruce's date stamp was 2 years, give or take a few months. I came home from work and found him lying down in the darkened bedroom. He had an appointment with the urologist earlier in the day. I asked him about the test results and he told me he has a huge tumor in each kidney and both were malignant. I took his hand and said, "I'm so sorry." He simply replied, "So am I." We stayed that way for quite some time, saying nothing. After all, what more was there to say?

Sleep did not come except in fleeting moments. We spoke several times that long night, touching briefly on each snippet of information that the doctor gave him and on subjects we knew we needed information on. That fragile bridge that we hesitantly began building into uncharted territory for us during those sleepless hours has grown sturdy. We talk as openly and honestly as we are able to, to each other. Still I suspect there are many things left unsaid.

Day two the enemy was engaged. From the beginning, Bruce was positive that he would not have both kidneys removed and go on dialysis for what might be the rest of his life. He sent the search engines burning up the internet seeking all the information he could find. More tests and doctor visits were scheduled and both of us talked to everyone we could and they led us to others, and so on...

By Thanksgiving all our immediate family knew of Bruce's illness and the balance of friends and family were notified in our Christmas letter. The love and encouragement from all has been so helpful. Sometimes you first need a big hug from someone who loves you and it doesn't matter if it is by phone, mail or in person.

Our boys have been wonderful. One son immediately said he wanted to give dad a kidney. I told him that his father would not accept such a sacrifice from either of his children. Bruce later told them the same things. Having no idea at the time if there was a genetic link, he didn't want to risk the life of one of his children to save his own.

For a while, the kids called every day or stopped in. As each day passes without new developments, the frequency of contact has diminished. Bruce does not look or act sick other than being tired most of the time, so it is difficult to remain on red alert always. Our older son has been invaluable in helping retrieve data from the internet, keeping the computers operating, and assisting in the creation of this website. The Lord has blessed us with our children. They have grown into fine young men.

If Bruce's disease cannot be checked and it progresses through its natural course, our family dynamics may change as stress, anxiety, grief, and other emotions are factored in.

Now it is time to talk about me. There have been so many changes and so little time to assimilate them. First of all, there is such a great sorrow when you realize your mate is terminally ill. I never truly understood the phrase, "heaviness of heart" until now. There are days when you wonder if you will laugh carefree ever again.

Yet there are moments and memories that bring laughter. Because of his illness, he is always very cold. Going through menopause, I am always roasting. Naturally our needs are on a collision course. This is directly opposite of when we were first married. Once I got the dual remote controls on our electric blanket reversed. I was so cold and kept turning my dial up to a higher number. Naturally, Bruce was overheating and kept turning his down. We had quite a laugh when the goof was discovered. If only this problem could be solved so easily.

I feel helpless and frustrated because as mom and wife, my role has been to nurture and help make things better and this is something I can't kiss, slap a band-aid on it and tell him it will get better. I am like Bruce in a way. When a course of action is set, I want to get on with it. This will be a waiting game and patience will be needed. I would pray for patience, but am afraid to do so. A pastor friend once told me that when you pray for patience to be prepared for testing. I don't think I could stand much more testing.

I have many fears. For the first time, I am the major breadwinner and our finances will continue to be tenuous without more input on Bruce's part. I worry that the money won't be there for all his medicines and supplements as they are all over-the-counter and not covered by prescription.

I worry that somehow by rejecting the traditional treatment we are making a mistake. Who are we to question men with years of training and experience? But then I remember that Bruce's cancer is so rare that most doctors will never see a case in their entire lives. Even specialists will not see that many. This actually encourages us as we can research as well as anyone. When your only options are labeled "Bad" or "Worse" and the odds are measured in the low single digits down to "0", you have to change the rules of how the game is played.

I worry that Bruce won't make it through this, and that the "...till death do us part" in our wedding vows will be much too soon.

I worry about the possibility of spending 20 or 30 years in desperate loneliness. I don't know if I could bear that.

I worry about having to do all the things that a husband takes care of.

I worry about being a burden to my children.

Isn't this amazing? He is the one sick and I am selfish and worrying about me.

Then there are the things I am really angry about. Unreasonable as this is, I am angry at Bruce that he is doing this to us. As if he has a choice!

I am angry because this has overtaken our lives. Nearly every surface in our home is covered in books, papers, medical supplies, and nutritional supplements. Cancer has entered into our home in a big way and is here to stay.

I am angry because I have to work 7 days a week to try and keep things together. I would rather be spending time at home with him. When I am done work, I am too tired to savor those moments.

Mostly I am angry with the Medical Profession. We found out last week that Bruce's cancer could have been detected at the size of a pin head. It could have been easily removed with Laparoscopic surgery.

Most of the time I deal reasonably well with it. I am usually cheerful, something I though would not happen again. Someone asked me how I could stand it. I replied that you can't cry all the time. The crying usually occurs late at night when I can't sleep. Long after the Rife machine is turned off and the blue light is blinking no more and the beeping has stopped. It is during that time when all the "what if's" and "what could have been's" drift through my mind. I am sure it is Satan trying to sabotage me when I am the weakest. I try to keep in mind Psalms 30:5:

"Weeping may endure for a night, but joy commeth in the morning."

We have moved to the point of believing that there may be a reason Bruce's cancer wasn't discovered early. We feel the Lord masked all Bruce's symptoms from the doctors over the years to bring us to this moment. Yes, it is Bruce's illness, but it is definitely a family affair. We believe there is a purpose. We don't feel his is terminal. We have to wait upon the Lord and watch it unfold.

Funny thing, in the end, how it comes back to patience.