It is February 15, 2002. I wait anxiously for the sound of my husband’s car in the driveway. The back door opens, he looks across the room to me and my heart breaks. I read in his eyes what his lips begin to utter.
“I have cancer.” … Our whole world changes!
That morning will sit forever in my memory… my unread book on the kitchen table, the absolute silence … for a moment the whole room dimmed.
For the next few weeks I played so many roles … supportive Mom to our two girls, strong Christian elder to my church family and confident wife to my husband. But oh, there was heartbreak and many times I sat crying alone when he was gone from the house.
I never doubted God’s presence but ached with the pain of what was to be.
After various careers Harry had finally found the one he loved best … he was the director of gift planning for the local hospital foundation. He truly believed in “giving” and had a philanthropic soul. At times he could get a bit preachy about it and I’d have to remind him that it was not a meeting we were having that night … just a get together of friends.
But this was to end.
At a special celebration dinner for the foundation, with the Lt. Governor, Lois Hole present, he made his last passionate speech. No one knew he had just been diagnosed with cancer but somehow Lois Hole was very touched and reacted by saying, “I want to give that man a hug.” And she did!
As we had been in the travel business for nearly two decades previously, we have been many places in the world. Now we were about to embark into a strange land of hospitals and health care. Hopefully this unknown country would be friendly and the trials and triumphs worth the goal we have set … a cure for Harry’s cancer.
The journey begins…
* * *
May , 2002
Although I have volunteered at the local hospital for two decades, I have never been in the cancer clinic. We are very nervous when we arrive and sit tentatively on the chairs like hens on eggs. Our name is called and we meet the visiting oncologist.
Harry’s cancer is in his salivary gland and is called “adenoid cystic carcinoma.” He is asked a multitude of questions including, “Do you smoke?” “Not for twelve years,” he replies. I feel an impending doom.
An appointment is made with Dr. P. in Edmonton (500 kilometers south) who will monitor Harry’s cancer and treatment.
I thank God that our eldest daughter, Lyn and family live there. How terribly difficult it must be for those from out of town who have no family support.
I have peeked into the X-ray package we are to take south. It tells me there are lesions and nodules on Harry’s lungs. I don’t share this information with him … neither do I tell him what the internet says about his kind of cancer. I know too much and it is a heavy load.
* * *
June 9, 2002
We arrived in Edmonton mid-afternoon. We had visited Lyn frequently so I feel very much at home there. The house was empty but grandson Mike, 17 years old, soon arrived. We unpacked and I put on a ham for supper, peeled some potatoes and shortly thereafter Lyn and granddaughter Andrea, 14, got home. (Son-in-law Roman was working late.)
I hold Lyn close and can feel the unshed tears waiting to spill. Both of us are being very brave. We don’t want to frighten the kids.
Harry and I are a little tired. We had driven down … a quiet drive as my mind is busy sorting things out. I like my ducks in a row and am an organizer. I feel that if everything is planned and on the list, I can cope … but Harry is moody … I have no answers for him but just reach out once in a while and touch him … just to remind him that I am close by.
We have not talked much about his cancer. I think we are still in shock. It seems unreal that this is truly us, going through all this.
Later, we got goodnight hugs from Mike who was still awake. The kids know how serious things are and are frightened too. But they are a ray of sunshine and brighten our day.
In the morning, Andrea gives us a big hug before we leave for the hospital.
I keep praying and I know my church family at home is praying too but I can’t help shedding some tears. I may appear confident and controlled on the outside but I am jelly inside.
We see a dentist at the university hospital that advises us that three teeth will need to come out; the upcoming surgery will probably paralyze that side of Harry’s mouth. There must be no danger of undetected tooth decay, and these extractions will assure that can’t happen.
But the dentist puts everything on hold until we see the surgeon. It’s been a convoluted day. They have cancelled all our other appointments too. It’s in their hands so we do what we are told. We have lost all control over our actions and decisions and feel somewhat like puppets on strings. I am no longer organized and my confidence is waning.
There is still a lump in Harry’s neck that might need surgery and a few nodules in his chest that will have to be monitored. We are shaken but know God is directing this whole scenario. We will trust Him.
* * *
June 12, 2002
We spend most of the day at the West Edmonton Mall … a good diversion. Harry shared that he doesn’t really want to stay at Lyn’s during his radiation as it will make such a full house for them. Maybe we can work something out. Daytime is fine, we would have the house to ourselves, but the evenings might be a bit much. Perhaps we can find an alternative. I checked out hotel accommodation but it is pretty costly for seven weeks. I will pray about it and we will see what happens tomorrow.
* * *
June 13, 2002
How quickly things change. We saw Dr. P. (an oncologist) and a Dr. W. (a surgeon) and the decision was made for radical surgery (chin to neck to shoulder) to make sure they get all the cancer. We will attend the upcoming family reunion then head home until we are told what to do next. First the teeth, then the neck surgery, then seven weeks of radiation with time in between to get off the aspirin he’s been taking since his heart attack in 1989, and time for healing. There will be damage to his mouth but eventually things will normalize. The nodules on the lungs may be scars from previous pneumonia. They will monitor them.
* * *
June 17, 2002
We’ve decided that although Lyn has kindly offered her home, we must find a place to stay for the seven weeks of radiation.
I talked to God about all this today as I was going through a “fragile” stage. Almost like a voice the message came … ”I have given you enough strength for all this.” And I will trust in that.
