Heading to Thirty-Three

Listening to “Same Love” in the car, driving home from an outing. 

Matt reminds me, that two weeks from tomorrow I’ll be thirty-three. Doesn’t sound old to some, yet to others it sounds geriatric. But, the older I get the feistier I find myself to be.

I shrug it off, because for the first time in a long time my birthday seems a tad silly in the scheme of things. We have made some hard calls these past weeks. I have played the “bad guy”. But, the fight and feisty is there. 

Between rounds four and five of FOLFIRI, Matt and I discussed his quality of life. It had ceased to exist. He agreed to tell the oncologist’s  office that he wasn’t handling it well. It was debilitating. He couldn’t eat. Couldn’t be far from a bathroom. Couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t get comfortable or enjoy his children. I had started this new job, more demanding than my last. To be expected with a promotion. But, it means I can’t attend every one of Matt’s appointments. We agreed he would tell them, without me there and perhaps they would suggest something else. 

Instead the nurse practitioner asked him to carry on. Told him unless he absolutely couldn’t he should try. My first mistake was missing an appointment. Because my husband will give everything. For nothing in return. He will fight until he exhausts all he has. 

So I marched in with him after round five. Matt broached the subject to tell them he didn’t want to continue and before he could finish I said “We’re done. He is done. Why fight when he can’t function. What is he fighting for if he can’t live?”. His oncologist agreed. And last week we stopped chemotherapy treatments. Folfiri won’t be fucking with our family anymore. There’s that feisty spirit. 

“What’s next?” That’s what everyone asked. Or “What now?”

Scans. Matt had new scans taken this week. And now we wait. Half the battle is waiting for the opponent’s next move. The other half is calculating and making your own. 

The song is over, like the chemotherapy. We’re at a standstill alike the car that is now parked. We’re home. 

But, the feisty spirit isn’t settling down. I unbuckle. But, I don’t get out of the car, I scroll Facebook. I see something about donating to the Wildlife Foundation. There’s a lion and lioness there, poster children for the cause. 

A lioness is typically ten miles an hour faster than her lion counterpart. He might be stronger, but she’s a calculated killer. The primary provider and hunter for her family. So while all cute and cuddly in the picture. She will rip you limb from limb for her family. 

There you have it ladies and gentlemen, mess with the lion and you will get the lioness. She will chase you down. Hunt you. And eat you alive. I can’t do it to the cancer, as much as I want to. 

My mother in law is hurting, I’m sure. His dad and brothers are hurting I’m sure. His family is sick over it, I’m sure. But, Matthew expends the energy he has worrying about these very people. He gets angry when they’re not treated fairly. He gets upset when he thinks he won’t be able to take care of them some day. 

My family that loves him as their own is heartbroken, this I know. My family supports me, this I also know.

But, they also know I’m a lioness. I’ll handle my own and ask for help when I need rest. 

For now we have ceased Matt’s treatment. For now we all just pray.

I walk into the house, and lock the front door. I wish I could lock out the unknowns, but we all know that’s not possible. 

The scans are done, now we wait. Like the lioness that’s hunting, we wait for the prey.

The difference is I’m hunting for answers. I’m not necessarily looking for blood. But, I’ll do what I have to. To fight when my husband can’t.