The Moment

At 11AM Wednesday, Elaine called to say that she was done and on the way home. She had just finished her 8th and last chemo infusion. It seems like yesterday to Elaine and an eon ago to me that Dr. Buckley told us she needed six months of treatment and we steeled ourselves for the long haul. Now we're finished, except for periodic checks, at least unless the cancer returns and we need to go through another round of chemo therapies.

Who We Are

Receive news of cancer, and it immediately becomes all consuming. But at some point, day-to-day life returns, although slightly askew. Now that we’re face-to-face with the gravity of our circumstance, it has become Life, With Cancer. But as my close friend Jerry Reeves, a pediatric oncologist in his first career, observed, “You don’t stop being who you are, just because you have cancer.”

Elaine has been as positive and uncomplaining as is possible to be. We’re simply working our way through it. But we try to not become morbid either. Playing the cancer card is a way to poke fun at how crazy our situation is, and to remind each other that life goes on.

So, in the snappy repartee that dominates a fair portion of our dialogue at home, the tumor humor plays out something like the following:

Early Morning. I’m up and am doing emails in the living room. Elaine calls out from the bedroom.

“Where’s my coffee! I have cancer, you know. I can’t be getting up to make my own coffee!”

There are variations on this theme.

Her: Boy, I could really go for a hamburger with fries and a shake.

Me: You’re shameless. Don’t you have any standards?

Her: No. I have cancer.