I maybe wrong, but this could be the time to share. Time heals all wounds and makes all things whole. Events that weren’t funny somehow become funny with the passing of time and all is forgiven. At least I hope to be forgiven!
Get a cup of coffee and sit here with me at the kitchen table while I talk. I’ll fix me a cup of hot tea and sip it when I get emotional. If we ramble a bit, it will be Ok, the pot is full and you can help yourself. There’s no biscuit or sweet bread made to nibble on, we’ll just watch steam rise and stir in cream and sugar. I’m no Mark Twain or even that Samuel Clemens fellow, but we’ll try to be honest in the telling of this true story.
It was over six years ago the words breast cancer became part of our everyday conversation. The truth be known, I heard the words spoken many more times then I actually spoke them myself. Uncharted territory, unknown journey, I preferred a new path through woods I’d never visited or explored. I was not prepared nor did I know how to prepare for this walk we were soon to undertake. I wasn’t comfortable knowing the wife of forty plus years was a statistic on the breast cancer chart. She was and is my wife, not number xxx so far this year. The first time I told someone my wife was diagnosed with breast cancer I got choked up. This kind of stuff happens to other people, strangers. She took it in stride and I stayed three paces behind watching and observing the wonderful care provided by the Doctors and Nurses, kind compassionate loving people. Through all stages of treatment, my wife would comment on how nice everyone was, from the valet to her cancer Doctor. I was overwhelmed with the medical terminology and infusions and radiation treatments and all the side effects and really sick wife. The routine of our life, parenting a young grandson and working my rotating shift. This was enough for me to deal with week after week. Family Medical Leave of Absence, or FMLA, becomes a code on your weekly time sheet and you are very thankful for it. That call into work when you say, “I really can’t come in tonight, stuff I need to take care of.” No fear of losing your job, no pay either, but being a caregiver for the wife is most important. Many times I’d just be there, waiting in the other room waiting to hear her call out and responding to her need. Seeing the effects of Chemo and watching the toll on her body was a hard thing to experience. On more then one occasion I would say that she wasn’t sick with cancer it was that Chemo that made her sick. I’m aware that the Chemo kills the cancer cells but it also puts a hurtin’ on the whole body. Anyone who does the Chemo and survives with a smile is tough, man or woman, I applaud you. In my book, you are at the top of the page, you are awesome and to be admired. So the Doctor figures some radiation is necessary and treatments are scheduled. I don’t remember how many radiation visits she had but I do remember pain, burns, raw flesh and anger when she suffered through the treatments. People, enough is enough! Once again, she was tougher and stronger than I and she endured to the final radiation treatment. Our lives could return to what we considered normal.
We have a very kind and loving Heavenly Father, who guided our steps and walked before, beside and behind; comforting, encouraging and providing the entire journey. God is God and as Christians we rest solely in Him.
Many, many months ago it was supper time and Susan was rebounding from the treatments and working and coming home and caring for the boy and doing all the things women do to keep a household running smooth. I had been keeping it running but four of the six cylinders seemed to need new plugs and a fine tuneup. A whole lot of misfiring and backfiring and engine sputtering was going on. The wheels were low on air and the wiper fluid container, bone dry! I mean, the lights were on but the glow was dim! The blinkers didn’t blink and the flashers wouldn’t flash but the horn blowed low! It was sure good to have her back being the Master of her domain. Everything is better with Mama. “Ain’t no one happy when Mama ain’t happy!” I have no idea what she had fixed for supper, but it was good eatin’ and good for the three of us to be sittin’ together. All the sudden Mama lets out with this scream raising me up outta my chair and causing the boy to scream right back. She scurries from the table to the oven where some chocolate chip cookies are baking. Thinking they are about to burn she yanks open the oven door and bends over hot pad in hand to pull the pan of cookies out. I smell the wonderful aroma of chocolate chip cookies baking and memories of good times sitting around the kitchen table with a glass of cold milk and a plate of warm gooey chocolate chip cookies. Talking and laughing with family after Sunday night church, oh man, good times with Toll House! My mother made excellent cookies and when I married the wife, she made and makes excellent chocolate chip cookies! I’ve had some so soft and chewy, you could hardly pick them up and others; brick hard and dry, the milk dunkin’ kind but never had me a bad one! So, she’s pulling the pan from the oven and screams again, dropping the precious pan of perfect cookies onto the top of the oven with metal on metal bang! Something is burning! She’s smacked herself on her forehead while jerking off the smoking wig! Smelling the stomach twisting awful stench of burning hair, the wide eyed grandson and I watch in amused horror and astonishment as Susan dances across kitchen waving the smoldering wig chanting, “It’s burning, it’s burning, my expensive wig is burning.” Her head is exposed for all the world to see. A new growth of hair fuzz is trying to make a comeback but still missing some spots, looks similar to the butt of a two day old Barred Rock chicken. The smoke detector does not sound off but grandson is yelling and screaming enough to wake the dead and disturb the ghosts in the next room. I’m being quiet as this crazy women waves a scalp around in circles chanting, ‘It’s burning, it’s burning!” Do I laugh? Do I cry? Do I dare speak? Nope! I sit and watch until I hear those wonderful words I’ve heard so many times before, “TOBY DO SOMETHING!” Nothing to do. the wig has quit melting, burning, smoking, still stinking but the emergency is over. The dance is done, the dinner is cold, she leans exhausted against the sink holding a dead muskrat looking hair piece. She looks at me, I look at her, The boy looks at me then looks at her, we all look at each other and oh how we laugh! A little hair singed off the bangs is a happy way to transition on to what we hoped to be our normal life. She ended all her treatments a few weeks ago. All is well. God is good! And we are thankful in 2021.
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Oh, For Thinking Out Loud! 