This past week, while my own DH was recovering from health problems, a good friend called me to tell me his wife was diagnosed with cervical cancer. He lives in Maine, and wanted recommendations on clinics, visits to Boston for consults, and rather surprisingly, how to be a good husband during this terrible time. When I broke the news to Christine that our dear friend was ill, and that her husband had come to me for advice, she nodded and agreed that I was the right person to call. I must say this startled me. It also led to a conversation that has stayed with me this week.
My relationship with Chrissy is scarred with illness. She faced her first cancer not long after we met. She has beaten cancer four times, not counting a few cases of simple skin cancer. She has had cancer in her lungs, her throat, and her breast. Just when we thought she was over it all we found she had idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis, which has a far less hopeful pathology.
What surprised me was her acknowledgment that I had supported her well and was a good sounding board for our friend. Though she is one of those people who always remembers to say she loves me, even when we are fighting, she rarely heaps praise on anyone. Her upbringing was a combination of Irish stoicism and old-southern practicality. Most of the time she shows affection through teasing, or blind-sides me with sudden passion. Actually, our personalities are quite similar in this regard. Both of us tend to be cautiously distant, though she, I think, conveys more warmth through humor.
I guess I was successful in my support when she was very sick. I was never sure, but I do know that I have never tried harder at anything in my life. Many relationships do not survive a cancer diagnosis. I think this is both because the partner of a cancer patient feels helpless, and without the proper tools to be of help, and because the patient very often pushes everyone around them away. I certainly remember both of these things during our past battles.
I think surviving this part of "in sickness and health" is the greatest test of how deep we love. What I told my friend, when he asked, was that his wife was going to feel ugly, helpless, and alone. No matter what we do as lovers and friends, when a life partner goes through radiation and chemo, and loses their confidence in their physical self, there really aren't words to sooth that loss. Women care more about their appearance. I don't believe their reactions are about vanity, or even confidence. During these treatments they lose more than hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes. Their skin gets papery. They feel weak. They are, to phrase it harshly, close to death. Treatments take them as close to it as possible, destroying both the immune system and the inborn sense of vitality it seems to fortify our bodies with.
I speak only for myself, but I remember watching my badjia sleep when she lost every hair on her head, had deep brown circles beneath her eyes, and her skin was white and felt like parchment to the touch. She was so fragile, curled on her side, I could not help but compare her to an infant. The shape of her head captivated me in a strange way. Since then she has kept her dark hair short, but when we met it was very long. I'd never seen the true shape of her skull and neck. There was a symmetry there I found captivating, a sudden awareness of her profile that I came to cherish. There was a terrible fear, too, not just that I could lose her. I worried that a woman so strong and independent would not let me care for her.
It was never the ugly reality of cancer or PF that scared me. I've always been afraid she will not let me hold and comfort her. Many times she has refused. She is quicker to accept my arms around her now, after many battles won. This is what I told my friend. Let her turn away, and don't resent her for it. Don't need her to need you. Wait for her to feel it through on her own terms, and be ready for her when she is strong enough to break. The break will come. Your job is to love her enough to let her set that pace, even when watching her suffer alone is so painful you think it will kill you. The waiting in agony is the measure of the man. The willingness to lay her pain in your hands when it becomes too great to bear is the measure of the woman. Surviving this is the measure of your relationship, and it will be stronger than steel when you do.
Labels: relationships, sickness, support
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