When you truly connect with another human being, you reach a strange physical, emotional, and mental place where you’re not quite sure where you begin and where they end. You’re lives and being become intertwined. Your motives for wanting good for them and wanting good things for you become one and the same. Their needs become your needs. The times you are supposed to be thinking about them inexplicably also turn to thoughts about yourself and thoughts about yourself are always influenced by the presence of your partner.
Today, during lunch I read an article on cancer “I Thought Being a Health Care Reporter Would Make Cancer Easier. I Was Wrong.” It’s a good read. The author, Alexandra Glorioso, chronicles some of the decisions she had to make as she dealt with her diagnosis of breast cancer. As I read, I thought about my ex-fiancee, B, and her dealings with cancer. I teared up more than once – even writing now, I feel an overwhelming emotion that I can’t quite name. Sadness for her. Sadness because I couldn’t comfort or understand. Sadness for me. Sadness intertwined.
For years, B has wandered through the world of cancer. I, on the other hand, have had very little personal contact with it. This was a theme with us – she has had so many tough things thrown her way, and there was no possible way for me to understand her – though I wanted to know her pain and understand her more than anything. She would sometimes accuse me of having it so easy, wondering why I would have any reason to complain about anything. I remember one series of texts in which I was trying to connect with her or understand her sadness. She had read an article in the Times that reminded her of her late husband and how he had cancer as a child. She talked about the creeping sadness, my attempt to understand fell flat.
[Tuesday, July 17, 2018 9:28:18 PM] B: I’ve been through a lot. Sometimes it creeps in and makes me sad.
[Tuesday, July 17, 2018 9:28:50 PM] B: Even though I’m happier than I’ve been in years
[Tuesday, July 17, 2018 9:30:40 PM] Me: I’m glad you’re happy. And while I can’t claim to understand the creeping sadness…. I’m willing to try to understand.
[Tuesday, July 17, 2018 9:31:09 PM] B: Willing to try?
[Tuesday, July 17, 2018 9:31:14 PM] B: It’s part of life
[Tuesday, July 17, 2018 9:31:29 PM] B: No ones happy all the time
[Tuesday, July 17, 2018 9:31:44 PM] Me: It is. I can’t possibly fully grasp it from your perspective, but I can try
[Tuesday, July 17, 2018 9:31:55 PM] B: Think its a fucking miracle I’m standing sometimes.
[Tuesday, July 17, 2018 9:32:42 PM] B: I wouldn’t expect anyone to understand, so don’t worry
[Tuesday, July 17, 2018 9:32:49 PM] B: That’s why I don’t talk about it
[Tuesday, July 17, 2018 9:33:00 PM] B: I just deal with it
Sometimes when I read text exchanges like that, I realize I didn’t stand a chance. I couldn’t possibly know the battles within, but I wanted to help in the worst way. I would never be fully let in, she would never trust me enough to fully rely on me. My sorrows would never match hers, and I could never understand. I had always hoped that with time, we might figure this out.
About five years ago, her husband was diagnosed with and unsuccessfully treated for pancreatic cancer. She never talked about this much with me. Despite their best efforts (moving to another state for treatment and who knows what other traumas), he passed quickly. I often try to imagine what B must have endured during that time. This article that I read today made me think about all of the hard decisions that had to be made. The late hours of care. The difficulties of navigating a system. For a person like me with little experience, it has been (quite literally) unimaginable. One month after her husband passed, her mother passed away from uterine cancer. Again, unimaginable.
When B moved to Philadelphia, she took a job working for an ad agency that represented the hospital where her husband was treated. She initially told me she chose the job so she could apply her skills as a writer as a way of giving back. When the company used her as “the widow with first-hand knowledge” she felt ill at ease. I suspect that it may have been less about giving back and more about building herself back up (facing that thing that has been so devastating to her). She has since moved back to where her husband was treated and taken a job working directly with the Hospital – I hope they are kinder to her. Her Philly job was not. Within the first few weeks of working there, the emotional stress was already taking a toll:
[Thursday, July 19, 2018 5:05:46 PM] B: And I went for a few mins and met a few exec types on the team which is good. But they all know me as the person who has experienced [the hospital] first hand
[Thursday, July 19, 2018 5:06:04 PM] Me: And better than what I thought it would be – a pile of work you’d have to take home
[Thursday, July 19, 2018 5:07:45 PM] B: [The hospital] is my client and the hospital where R [her husband] was treated. So I get a lot of interesting looks from people who expected to see a much older widow. And I force myself to tell my story with a positive spin so I can deflect the weirdness of the moment
[Thursday, July 19, 2018 5:07:56 PM] B: It’s awesome.
[Thursday, July 19, 2018 5:08:05 PM] B: But it’s part of it. Just a long day
[Thursday, July 19, 2018 5:08:46 PM] B: Ready to do my second long run!
[Thursday, July 19, 2018 5:08:49 PM] Me: If I could give you a hug and treat you to a beer or cold drink and maybe a shoulder rub, I would
[Thursday, July 19, 2018 5:09:39 PM] B: Thanks hon. I appreciate it. Feeling strong today so I’m ok. Not a puddle like the other night.
Tomorrow will be so good. Will be able to relax around you
Work was a constant stress for B. So was all of the loss she suffered. It, in turn, pissed me off to see them ride her relentlessly. She would come home some nights and cry. My being ticked at them always made things worse. Frustrations intertwined.
But the article also reminded me of B’s own cancer scare. In the fall of 2018, she had gotten back unusual results that required a biopsy. I remember taking the day off to go with her. I remember being listed as her emergency contact. I remember the waiting room was too crowded for us to have seats next to each other. I remember hearing her laugh as she talked with the woman at intake – B had a way of making everyone around her brighter. I remember the unease I felt when she was no longer visible or within earshot. I was nervous sitting in the waiting room. I remember seeing her come back out, and just being relieved to see her. We went home and she worked the rest of the day from home (they wouldn’t give her the day off).
Unfortunately, the biopsy came back inconclusive and would require a more invasive procedure – one that would require about 6 weeks of recovery. We had been planning a trip to California, and our big decision at that time was whether or not to have the procedure before or after. The doctor recommended after – so our trip wouldn’t be ruined with worry and waiting for results. By this time, I had already wanted to ask B to marry me. With her health being a concern, and all of the stress involved, I had additional motivation. I wanted her to know that I would be by her side through it all. On our trip, we got engaged. It was awkward and beautiful and one of the happiest days of our lives. A few weeks later we went back to the hospital for the second procedure. I was again nervous. We sat side by side holding hands. This one took longer and B emerged a little more gingerly than the previous time. I almost broke down just seeing her. It’s hard to explain the worry and relief that was coursing through me – intertwined. Again results were somewhat vague. She would be fine for the moment but would probably need to revisit and have another biopsy in the fall.
B left me a few months later. This is just another thing in a long list of things that have gone unanswered since she left. Lots of nights, before bed, I mutter I hope her health is good. I’m not one for prayer, but this is the closest I come to it. I can’t always tell if I want to know for my own peace of mind or out of concern or caring – intertwined.
In talking about her relationship, Glorioso says:
“He’s the one,” my dad, who has hated every boyfriend I’ve ever had, says to me. “A person who sticks with you through cancer sticks with you through life.”
I was prepared to stick with B through cancer and through life. I wish she could have seen that. I wish there were a way to say that without making the story about me. I often want her back just to be able to give and help and show her love. A selfish kind of selflessness… intertwined.