(Note: I wrote this Monday night and he had the surgery Tuesday…)
I needed a little liquid courage to put this on paper. (Besides it’s always much grittier, less polished and pretty, like real life.) But he said no.
Nobody can know save a minimal number of his clients whose deadlines fall this week. Whose livelihood and success he’s a part of, and needs to ensure. “I’m the breadwinner,” he reasoned. (I’d be insulted if I didn’t acknowledge the vast differences between my non-profit salary and his.) And nobody wants to entrust his/her business to a “sick” person.
A “sick person?” My Husband? Not me?
Different shoes, for sure.
I’m writing this now in hopes surgery goes well and I can finally share my fears… with you. Funny, you all are now my allies; besides my closest confidents, you allow me to divulge in a way I feel safe. I now want to share with you. We understand more than Epilepsy.
And here I’m sharing… Cancer- I can barely say the word- as I write this before my husband’s surgery tomorrow. Before we know the extent of his diagnosis; you’ve heard the words- “we can’t tell you til we get in there.”
Just wait and see. Here’s one possibility… and here’s the other.
Oh, thank you. For more uncertainty. Lol
You see, I can’t, CAN’T live without this man. He’s an anchor. A rock. When I can’t be the tough one. He’s the “healthy” to my son. The reassurance to a 4 year old exposed to unpredictable instability by his Mama. He’s Daddy.
Now who’s the strongest? Who provides a harbor? A substantial constant?… It can’t be me; It has to be him.
But my first baby, the one I call my Fishy- from our many early mornings of surfing while dating- needs his own safe harbor. Me.
You know I rejected it at first. I said, that’s impossible. He’s not in his best health but nobody’s diagnosed him so far- to find anything significant- it can’t be that bad. So when I picked him up from the hospital, I processed the Doctor’s words almost lightly… Like it couldn’t happen in the context of our world… rejected it.
Then there was a pre-op appointment, right away. And then a referral to an “amazing surgeon.” And then someone bumped from their surgery so Brian could go in on Tuesday. Right away…
And then I heard “rupture,” “robot or delve deeper for portions of colon removed,” “thermo chemo if cells escape,” “unstoppable growth of cancerous tumors.”
Can that happen to us? It was when I drove to a meeting in LA this last Thursday, I broke down. Finally without a child. Tears. 100% fine or 100% fatal. Wtf? Where do you go from there?
This man has fought so hard for me, and I’ve fought to live my best life for him and my son. Those two… If anything, I’d want it to end in those two together. What I sought and found, what I baked and gave life. 😊 My perfection. No greater gift. My happiness.
But those two- He’d teach him to be a man. He’d lead by example. Old school; walk on street side of the curb, open doors, offer the coat or umbrella no matter how soaked one gets… All the things he did for Mommy from day one. The small gestures. But huge in respect’s measure. The definition of a man…
He’d teach you to offer the crook of one’s arm on a stroll down the street, to take her coat, pull a chair before one’s own… to pause and navigate a puddle, write a note of thanks for spending an evening with him.
He’d teach you to ask her parents’ permission (no matter how much you’d have to lie about why you were late to her house). Or no matter if you were sure they’d say yes, before you went to her. He’d impress upon you the value in working for her. Earning her. Her trust and her love. And then he’d teach you to love her unconditionally and expect that same tremendous love in return.
Oh, I hope you know what an honorable and old fashioned man your Mommy married. How blessed and incredibly grateful I am to walk this life alongside your Daddy.
And how I can’t live without him. And how we’ve always battled, the three of us together.
You’ve grown to live an incredibly fortunate life peppered by unfortunate circumstances and I refuse Daddy and cancer to be one of them.
We are warriors together. We are “Davis Productions.” We are constant kisses and hugs, and we don’t work without each other…
We don’t. Not a two, but a three. Always…
The cancer will not invade his entire body. Epilepsy will not always rule mine.
We will grow old together. This man will continue to be the apple of my son’s eye, the anchor of our family and the one who teaches Nolan how to continuously come into his own.
And I will treasure them, ever deeper, both…
I’m asking you to barter with me now God; I’m begging you. Don’t do this to my husband, don’t do it to me and especially please, please, spare our little man any more pain in our sanctity of three.