It Could Be Worse

Our new life moto - it could be worse. I know most of you who follow this blog only know about Chad's cancer but in all honesty - the guy has been dealt a tough hand of cards. He's overcome so many obstacles, trials and tribulations - it makes my head spin.

Thankfully, his wrist plate looks fine. Unfortunately, he has a skin infection called Cellulitis. Hopefully, a week of antibiotics, anti-inflammatory and (more) pain pills will make this particular bump in the road, go away.

So it's not amazing news but it's definitely good compared to what we were afraid of. There has been significant improvement today. Yesterday, his arm looked like a balloon and he had debilitating throbbing pain that, literally, brought him to his knees a few times. Today, the swelling has gone down and the pain has subsided to manageable.

Compared to what he went through for the first eight months of this year, today was a field day.

As If Cancer Wasn't Enough

When Chad was in the military, he messed his wrist up pretty bad and as a result has had a metal plate for the past thirteen years. He has always had little to no movement but he did something a few days back (what exactly, remains a mystery) and it's been getting progressively worse.

He is currently in a lot of pain and since he can't get an actual appointment with the doctor for at least a month, we're heading up the Marion VA hospital tomorrow to go to the ER. (So much for not having to go back there until December, eh?)

I have no idea what this could mean. If they have to replace his metal plate, he will no longer be able to work. Which will put him on disability - which will be very hard financially. I don't even know how that works. Or of course, he will need to find work in another field which will prove to be quite a task as well.  I worry most for his peace of mind. It is one thing to go through cancer and all the related surgeries, treatments, medications - and get back on a semi-normal track. Only to have another wrench thrown in his face. It hurts my heart.

So - if you're out there and reading this. Pray for healing. Pray for good news. Pray for nothing majorly wrong. This guy has had enough to deal with this year and - well so have I. (lol) God's been so good to us so far, I'm hoping for one more miracle.

Thanks in advance for your thoughts, love, prayers and support. Hopefully this is only a minor set back on Chad's route to feeling pain free.

All He Sees Is December

Here is a look into his soul. Chad and I were having dinner tonight and he asked if I had made a post somewhere recently because it seemed several people checked in on him, 'out of the blue'.

I told him 'the usual' but nothing worthy of note. Just that things are 'same ole' with respects to pain. Before I give you the glimpse - let me tell you - those of you who still check in, still send him messages, still ask us how we're doing or if there's anything you can do - thank-you. When this first happened, we got so much love and support and with each piece of positive news, life slowly moved back to 'normal'. But once you get cancer or it becomes a part of your life, nothing is ever normal again. I cannot put into words how much it means to him - both of us - when someone still checks in. So thank-you. It makes a difference.

Now onto that glimpse. As I was reading him the most recent updates from this blog, I started bawling. I don't know why. I don't know why I am sitting here now with tears streaming down my face. We wake up every
day and go through the motions, act strong, take life as it comes but it's still hard. It's still raw.

While discussing his pain; Chad made a comment that he will likely be on pain pills all his life. That it is difficult for him to grasp or accept that he now has limitations that he didn't have before. So in my 'let's try to be positive (even though it's annoying) attitude' - I told him when he gets to feeling down to try and focus - not on how far he has to go - but how far he has already come. That yes, it may be difficult to jump down off your work truck but two months ago, you couldn't even have climbed up there to begin with.

His response? "The only thing I see is December. My next test."

I think everyone who has cancer gets what is affectionately coined "scanxiety".  Every three months, six months, one year, five years - it's time to take those scarey tests that may reveal your cancer has come back. We all hope, wish and pray for those three little letters that mean so much - NED! (No Evidence of Disease) so we can carry on living another 3, 6, 12 months pretending we're not scared.

Even if you're fortunate enough to remove cancer from your body, it never leaves you. It never leaves Chad. It kills me from the inside out to hear that all he can focus on is December. But I get it. I can't focus on December. I take life day by day now, it's all I can do. It's all I WANT to do because each day in itself is a blessing and I don't want to waste one. But that's easy for me because I didn't have an ugly mucus filled tumor removed from my body earlier this year. I didn't stare my mortality in the face. I didn't beat cancer.

Cancer, I hate you. I hate what you do my family and friends who have had/are dealing with you. And I hate you for how you make my husband feel. He is a damn good man and I will continue to pray every day that you never return to his body. That when this scan comes in December - you're still non-existent. I pray that every scan for the next 50 years shows that you're gone for good from his life and that the fear of your returning gets a little less each time he hears those magic words. Fuck you cancer, you're not welcome here.