Home > Marriage > Emotions > Would My Mate Leave Me?
Would My Mate Leave Me?
By Amy Givler, M.D. | posted 9/12/2008 11:35AM
 1 of 4
My husband, Don, told me I had cancer. Well, he confirmed it, really.
Two days earlier, on April 6, 1993, I'd found lumpy, hard growths on my neck. Since I was a physician, I examined myself right away. What could they mean?
Within a few minutes I knew—these were lymph nodes and they were full of cancer.
But I couldn't be certain—not until I'd had a lymph node removed and studied under a microscope. So after the surgery on April 8, I awoke to find Don sitting by my bed.
I blinked as I opened my eyes and tried to focus on his. He waited. Slowly my brain cleared. I searched Don's face and saw concern.
"Is it cancer?" I asked. He nodded and gently took my hand. I couldn't breathe. Cancer.
For Don and me, the journey through cancer was as much about awareness as sickness, understanding as much as healing.
Am I going to die? I wondered. Will I leave behind this sweet man to rear our two toddlers on his own?
"It's Hodgkin's lymphoma," he added. Hodgkin's? I knew that Hodgkin's is treatable. The vice-grip around my chest loosened, and I could breathe again.
Treating cancer means chemotherapy or radiation, and maybe more surgery. And I knew how fatigued people going through cancer treatment became. I wouldn't be able to keep up with everything that needed to be done at home. In my medical practice, I'd seen marriages break up as a result of one mate having cancer. I wondered about my marriage. How will this affect us? Will Don trudge along with me on this path? Will he grow tired from the stress and caregiving, and leave me?
"There's a long, hard road ahead," I said tentatively, wondering what his response would be.
"Yes," he said, giving my hand a squeeze, "and we'll walk it together." I was comforted for the moment. But the road still lay ahead.
I'd remember that hand squeeze many times during the following months of cancer treatment. I'd need the reminder that Don and I were a team. Especially since too often emotionally we were on different timetables.
Under strain
Our anniversary fell two days after my diagnosis, so we celebrated our 11 years together at a restaurant. The previous 48 hours had been a whirlwind, keeping us from discussing how my diagnosis was impacting us. Now Don was ready to talk. But strangely, I wasn't—something unusual for me since I'm always ready to discuss feelings and emotions.
"I don't want to lose you," he said, his voice quavering.
I smiled and thought, How sweet, but his words didn't touch me. It was as if there were a thick cushion between my outer self and my inner feelings, and I just couldn't force myself to talk about my diagnosis and the future.
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