The Big C Means Courage Not Cancer

Author : Earl Erickson
One bright and sunny, September morning, in 1999, my wife, Bobbie, was expecting to take delivery of her brand new refrigerator-freezer. We both went shopping for the appliance earlier that week. She was excited and in an exceptionally good mood. Lately, she had been complaining of a pain in her back. She consulted her doctor and he ran a few tests, but it had been weeks since she had taken these tests and we heard nothing back. We wondered why it was taking so long.I was getting ready to go to work at my swing shift job. Bobbie was canning pickles and preserves in the kitchen. The enticing scent was wonderful as it filled every room in the house. It reminded me of the days when I was just a kid when my mother would can pickles and preserves. It took me back so many years. Whenever Bobbie would cook dinner or can goodies, she would often do a country jig and dance to her favorite country songs. When I would see her in this mood, I knew everything was alright. She was still doing her two-step when I kissed her and went off to work.On my way to work, I needed to stop off at the bank. And just as I entered the double doors, I was paged by my wife. I thought maybe I had left something I should have taken to work. I telephoned her back from the bank. When she answered she was crying and asked me, "would you come home right away? I just received some bad news from my doctor." She was hesitant to say the biggest and worst word that puts the fear in everyone. I had a feeling what it was. Right then, I forgot why I was in the bank. All I cared about was rushing home to comfort my wife. I called in work to say I had an emergency and would not be in today.I was shaking as I entered the front door and walked in to see her sitting in the living room. I was trying to remain cool, calm and collected. I put my arms around her and kissed her gently, wiping away her tears. The first thing I said was—-"we're going to fight this and win." I told her I loved her very much and we sat and talked.Her doctor had called and gave her the bad news we were hoping would never come. Her doctor informed her she had a form of bladder cancer in its advanced stage. Her lymph nodes were affected by the cancer and it was spreading throughout her body. We prayed together and we discussed the next enduring task of fighting the big "C" with a vengeance.That night, when I recalled the bad news of the day at the bank, my mind had totally took a leave of absence. I forgot why I was there. I never did begin or finish any business there. Sadly, I'll never forget that day. I had the same feeling many Americans describe as knowing exactly where they were when they were told that President Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, Texas or the 9/11 tragedy. It bears an enormous emotional scar that never heals and time just moves on—slowly at first. When I look back, it's crystal clear-- then it becomes a blur as time passes. There's never really any closure to the scars. They just try to heal on their own when the storm blows through and settles--time after time. I felt as devastated then as I do now. Time never really heals. It reminds you.The next day, we awoke to fix breakfast. There standing alone and cold, was the prized possession we looked forward to having as a new member of the household--the brand new refrigerator-freezer. It hadn't been touched since the delivery man set it up there against the wall. It no longer seemed important.I stayed at home from work to be with Bobbie. We needed to discuss her forthcoming treatment with her new oncologist. It would be chemotherapy three
times per week. She was in treatment for almost sixteen months. Our style of living changed dramatically as time went on.It was a few months into her treatment that we decided to get a second opinion. A few days later, after our visit, we both went into his office. He seemed to have a smile on his face. He had told us, "it must be a miracle, I can't detect any cancer at all. It's in remission." Then we left his office with the happiest news we've ever heard. When we arrived home, we were calling everybody we could think of calling on our busy telephone. We were telling tales of this wonderful miracle that had just occurred.One week had passed and we were told the "miracle" was a false spontaneous remission. We were saddened once again but not defeated. Bobbie wasn't the type
to just roll over. She was a fighter and this would be the biggest mother of battles she had to face. She was only four foot and eleven inches, but she could be a stick of dynamite when she wanted to be.When Bobbie seemed to stabilize, we planned a 3 day vacation to El Paso, Texas. I thought it would be nice for us to visit her very close friends who
actually were her extended family. I never met them before. They were more than thrilled to see her but saddened by her condition. I often wondered if we should have gone. She became so weak she could hardly move her luggage-on-wheels. She stopped so many times to catch her breath. Sadly enough, this trip was her last visit to El Paso. When looking back, I must have known that. She lived in El Paso for many years and when she left, she would always come back. Her husband was in the military. Her daughter, Shawn, was born in El Paso. It used to be home to her, but she couldn't stand the heat when she got older. This was way before I entered her life.It was about a year after she was diagnosed, that I decided to buy a small, used RV, so we could get away on weekends to relax. We always enjoyed taking naps together in the mid-afternoon. I thought it would do us a world of good to take a trip to the ocean or the mountains. We loved it there. We could try to forget about the big "C" on weekends. I want to cry like a baby when I look at the pictures we took during our getaways . We had only gone away just a few times until she became too weak to walk. About three years after she passed away, I had to sell the RV because the memories would hurt so bad.A few months after I bought the RV, Bobbie developed serious problems with her bladder. Her urologist said that the tumor on her bladder was the size of a grapefruit. She now had to wear a urine drainage bag strapped around her leg. At times, she would rely on me to drain it. By this time, she depended on me almost full time. I still kept up with my full time job, but it was increasingly hard to manage my lack of energy.The owner of the adult family home that was caring for my ninety-eight year old uncle, suggested Bobbie could stay there while I go to work. She was a friend of Bobbie's. They met at a place where Bobbie worked before. They were a Mormon family and they never charged me a cent. What they were was a god-sent. Every night I would have to awake her and take her home with me. Sometimes but not often, she would wait up for me. At this point, she could no longer care for herself. Her arm hurt terribly as she cried through the night. Bobbie's type of cancer would throw her reeling in pain in her back and her upper portion of her body. She was now taking radiation treatments for her pain. She would cry uncontrollably and look at me with her sad blue eyes and say, "Earl, I don't want to die." When she said that I wanted to die. I was thinking if there was a way to save her life in exchange for mine--I would have. Then I thought of all the people I knew that abused themselves, like my brother, Mark, who talked of petty complaints while destroying their lives. I wondered why these people have been chosen to live while my precious wife was lingering on in pain with hers. She would have given anything to live while others were trying to die. It made me sick and angry to think of these thoughts.Then the worst of the terrible news came. Bobbie now has brain cancer. She was frail and her physical appearance and mental capacity was comparable, if not worse, than a woman in full-blown Alzheimer's disease. She was heavily drugged and her eyes were glazed and strained, but somehow she could amazingly give me a smile-—the kind of smile that reveals the end was near. I felt like I was dying with her. If I could only have back my darling wife, my soul partner, the only woman I really loved, the woman that always stood by me--my only reason to live.Bobbie passed away on January 15, 2001. It was the birthday and holiday of Martin Luther King Jr. The only celebration in my heart was the rejoice of no
pain anymore for my wife. I knew the Lord took her home. I never arrived in time to be by her side. She was in the hospital when she slipped away to journey back home. I felt guilty each time I had to leave her, but I needed my rest in able to go to work. I used up all of my family leave my employer would allow. She always understood and we kissed each other goodbye. For some reason, I always knew I would see her early the next morning. She was such a fighter and I knew that, but I was in denial of the fact how grave her condition really was. Had I known or had the intelligence and awareness that she would slip away when she did, I would have stayed there all day and every night holding her hand.My wife's memorial service was on Inaugural Day. President Bush was to be our new president, while President Clinton was leaving the office.Before her journey home to heaven, I prayed to God every night to please take her if you can't cure her. Afterwards, I felt angry at God for not curing her of this deadly disease and allowing me to be left alone without her. I believed God could make miracles happen. I realized I was being selfish. When that anger passed--and it took a long, long time-- I knew I was blessed with her being my wife for nine-and-a-half years. Some couples do not have that much time before death separates them. And then there's some who share a lifetime of health and happiness. It wasn't fair, but it wasn't for me to say.I had to go through so many stages of anger and guilt when Bobbie passed on. I pretended I was doing alright when family members and friends asked how I am doing. That was far from the truth. I had a heavy heart and I was suffering deep inside. The world seemed cruel to me. I often wondered how my world could move on without her by my side. I briefly thought of suicide, but my brother did that, and I knew how desperate and painful my family and I felt after he committed this selfish crime. I also knew I might not get to heaven and join my wife if I took my own life.I rejected being counseled for my grief, guilt and anger. I went back full time to the one thing I knew might help. I went back to drinking and staying drunk for days. I missed a lot of work. I was cited for a DUI and served my punishment, but it wasn't then that I chose to sober up. I went onto several more binges after my DUI. I was daring the cops to bust me again. Luckily, they didn't. I stopped in time. My mind became clearer and my depression became less harmful. I have stayed serene and sober since.I miss my dear wife, Bobbie, so much. I now realize a part of me had died the same day she was taken from me. That part of me will never return. If there is such a thing as closure, it hasn't happened to me yet. In my life, today, the big "C" means courage, not cancer. My wife had the courage to fight cancer. My courage helps me to move on and pray for strength and hope, and enjoy my days of serenity and sobriety.Earl Erickson is a recovering alcoholic. He loves writing, photography, watching old classic television and films and listening to music. He also loves to travel and gardening in his spare time. He is an internet author and has written for Ezine Articles in the past. He is currently writing a book on his life
and struggles with alcoholism, depression and grief. His book is entitled, Abstinence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder. He hopes
to be finished with that project by early next year. He works full time as a public school employee. He owns and manages two websites. They are http://BobbiesMountain.com, dedicated to his late wife, Bobbie, and to cancer research. His other website is http://sqwearlenterprises.com. His love of writing inspirational stories brings him happiness and satisfaction. He hopes his stories help readers identify the struggles they have encountered in similar events of their lives. Earl is a native
and resident of Tacoma, Washington.
Keyword : courage, love, cancer, alcoholism, recovery, depression, suicide, God, hope and prayer.