For esophageal cancer warriors, their spouses, families, and significant others. When the walk seems insurmountable, I think of you.
What I learned as I walked with my husband during the post-surgery in-hospital days.
Journal, April 2001.
He stares at me through big round drugged eyes, yet he looks right through me as if I were invisible. He seems to have disappeared deep inside himself.
I sit beside his bed and read. He rarely speaks only to ask me to fix his pillows. He is irritable with me. I ask myself why.
I’m exhausted and can’t understand it, until he tells me the pain is excruciating. He has a morphine drip, along with a button held in his hand to press and receive rescue pain killing morphine whenever he needs it. He tells me when I touch him it creates more pain. I ache for him.
If esophageal cancer possessed the capability to write the laws of physical chaos on a body ravaged by months of chemotherapy, radiation therapy, and this radical surgery, my husband’s strong athletic body, could be used as its classic model.
What he tells me says it all.
“I am an organized train wreck!
Everyday was a battlefield… we did not choose the place where we had to fight…but God was there too… He did not promise exception from trouble, but He did promise to be in it with us.