NET cancer and the widower

I have not been very good about posting here in recent months. Part of that had to do with my work as chairman of the Relay for Life of Greater Fall River. Part of it has had to do with the work of fundraising for NET cancer research. But the lion’s share of the difficulty has come from trying to deal with the emotions from the loss of my wife Jane in December of 2010 to NET cancer that are continuously in my face.

I need to take a breath sometimes.

My grief has been slow to leave me. In fact, some days are worse than the days immediately following her death. Grief does not magically end when one has confronted all the “firsts” of the initial year. Rather, it is an ongoing journey that does not entirely end until one ceases, himself, to draw breath.

Confronting NET cancer daily

But I have slowly come to understand that my work on cancer in general–and NET cancer in specific–has made that journey much more difficult. My life now brings me into almost constant contact with cancer patients and their caregivers. In the case of NET cancer, it brings me into frequent contact with spouses and the adult children who have lost someone close to them to NET cancer.

Her death killed a part of me I never expect to get back.

Those meetings and conversations take me back to the last months of Jane’s life. The research I do on the subject brings me to ideas and treatments I can only wish were there for Jane–but were not. I play the “what if…” game every time I read a new paper on the subject. Sometimes it gets to be too much.

The breakdown

Early last week, I cracked entirely. Monday and Tuesday I woke up with a list of things I wanted to do: draft a new fundraising letter, catch up on the research I have watched build up the last few months because of the commitments my Relay fundraising and chairmanship demanded, do recruiting for our Marathon Walk team…

Early last week, I cracked entirely.

Instead, I vanished into four novels, several mindless movies, two seasons of missed television shows, some retail therapy, and a used book sale. I took naps, stayed up late, and slept in late. I even sat on the deck and watched the hummingbirds flit around the feeders. My conscience kept whispering there were things I needed to be doing, but my mind and body both shouted it down.

Cancer never sleeps, never rests

Cancer may never sleep–never take a break–but the human mind, the human body, the human spirit must recreate itself periodically.

Sometimes it gets to be too much.

Three years ago, Jane’s doctor told her he thought she probably had cancer–but that we could not be sure until after the biopsy. It was news we were both expecting. Thirty-one months and five days ago, Jane died. Her death killed a part of me I never expect to get back.

Cancer changes everything

Cancer does that to people. It kills individuals but it also kills those they leave behind. And even when it does not kill the body, it changes everything. No one walks into the tunnel that is cancer and comes out the other side unchanged.

My grief has been slow to leave me.

I’m not done with fighting cancer. I am not done with fighting NET cancer. But I need to take a breath sometimes. Sometimes the grief will overwhelm me and I’ll need to just curl up in a corner and cry.

But I’ll always be back. This is a fight that is too important.