We are now THAT family...

Cancer.  It's cancer.  I remember hearing Dr. K's voice distinctly on the phone in a moment that plays in my mind over and over.  My heart sank.  I felt lightheaded.  My face probably lost color, and I felt tingling in my extremities - good thing I was already sitting down.  I shushed my kids so I could hear everything he was saying.  I couldn't breathe.  I couldn't think.  When my husband got off the phone, he just looked at me, not saying much.

In an instant, we became THAT family.

Now, it's not me who has cancer.  It's my husband.  Basal-cell carcinoma, Dr. K called it.  I had remembered researching this type of cancer, and it tends to stay self-contained - no testing of the lymph nodes required, no removal of a large radius of skin around the affected area.  Thank. The. Lord.  But, nonetheless, it IS cancer.  

He called his parents first.  Then my parents.  Then his sister.  Then my brother.  All of them were shocked - I mean, why wouldn't they be...he's only 35!  

Then we hugged each other for awhile.  And only then did we realized that all of these conversations had gone on in front of our daughter (how selfish are we?!) so we sat down and talked to her about it.  We used the C word, but we didn't use the D word.  No way were we going to talk about the mortality rate or likelihood of death with a 7-year-old.  She will find out soon enough what that all means, and, for now, she can just stay innocent to all of that.

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My dad had gone through this type of thing not long ago - around the time of my wedding...and then again around the time of my brother's wedding.  He joked that he's glad he doesn't have any more kids to get married so he doesn't have to worry about another cancer diagnosis.  If only it were that easy...  

I remember the day I found out about my dad - it was the first time I can remember anyone in my immediate or extended family had talked about having "the Big C!"  I thought he was joking.  Or that I misheard.  I was scared for my father.  And I was scared for my mother.  And I was scared for myself and my brother.  My dad was the world to me, and to lose him would be horrible. 

I never thought I'd face it any closer than that...but here we are.

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I went on Facebook and told a handful of people through private message.  I felt pathetic doing it that way and then realized that I don't really have any close girlfriends left.  What has my life come to that my husband is diagnosed with cancer and I have no close lady friends whom I can call about it.  Why the hell am I even here and what am I doing?

So...we've become THAT family - the one that people avoid because they don't quite know what to say.  Or the one that people come up to, head tilted, asking, "How are YOU doing?"  Or the one that people tiptoe around and don't really mention what's wrong.  IT'S CANCER!  YOU CAN SAY THE FRICKING WORD!  And don't you even think of feeling guilty because we are THAT family and you are not.  I want no sympathy and no acknowledgement of cancer...at least not until we know his prognosis.

Ugh.  This sucks.

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The night we found out, we laid in bed together and cried.  We talked about our life and our plans and how they can change in an instant.  We thanked God for all we had and asked Him to hold us through what is to come.  My husband, through tears, asked me, "What do we do now?"  And my answer, though simple, said exactly what I want to do with my husband for as long as we both shall live: "We live, we laugh, and we love."  Now, let's get one thing straight: I'm not the kind of person who is known to get sentimental and misty-eyed, I don't cry very much or,very easily. I'm the kind of person who used to see the phrase "live, laugh, love" and roll my eyes, and think oh brother.  Seriously? How friggin' cliché. Come up with something - anything - more original to plaster on your walls. 

But now I finally understand.

So I've started this blog.  I may post a lot.  Or a little.  I may drop off the face of the earth with a bad prognosis, or want to blog frantically about it.  I don't even want to try to set a goal or make a promise about the frequency with which I will update because, as our family found out, goals can change in an instant.  

And, with the best of luck and with God to guide us, you will continue to see us living.  And laughing.  And, most importantly, loving each other as best as we can until the end of our lives together.  And, hopefully, it is in God's plan that someday, somehow we will no longer be THAT family.

Thank you for your love and support.