Chapter 2: part 5

continued from chapter 2: part 4
Hal’s good friend Bob gave us another welcome push. He sent Hal a copy of the book, “My God, I Thought You Died,” written by Claude Dosdall, a man who was diagnosed as terminally ill with brain tumors several years ago and lived to start a support system that endures today. We devoured the book and were amazed over Claude’s search to prolong his life. He tried diet, expensive self-healing groups in the U.S., Philippine “miracle” cures, everything. We were learning there were many ways to fight the disease and there were many people out there who found the right way for them and were joyously alive.

Along with these discoveries and the refocusing of our interests something special happened within our marriage. We were a verbal couple who talked and talked our way through any difficulties, which led some friends to call us the Bickersons, after the couple Frances Langford and Don Ameche made popular on radio many years ago. This couple didn’t listen to one another but waited for a break in the conversation to jump in and tell their side. We were both adept at snapping off brilliant one-liner rejoinders that may have honed our entertainment skills but did nothing to improve our ability to listen to one another.
One day, post-surgery, Hal launched into one of those dialogues and I realized I wasn’t going to play anymore. I loved this man and I listened carefully to what he said because I wanted our time together to be precious and good. Farewell old worn-out game. Hal realized soon enough that I wasn’t playing so he hung up his verbal sparring gloves too.

During some darker moments when I was working in my study, I wondered what life might be like living alone, and swore to myself that if Hal died first, I wouldn’t make a saint out of him in my memory, so the next time we had a dispute, a minor thing but something that used to drive me nuts, I wrote myself a note about this irritating habit and tucked the note into the pocket of a jacket I don’t wear too often. It’s not a bad idea to remember some of the irritating habits when you’re alone and feeling sorry for yourself.

Childish? Sure, but it helps.

We said, “I love you,” a lot. Hal was always a romantic and since the beginning of our marriage, we’ve had candlelight dinners, first with the kids and later when we were back on our own. He never failed to thank me for preparing a meal and often sent me flowers for no reason; now we continued to appreciate one another more consciously. I had a habit of tucking a love letter under his pillow if I was going to be away overnight or longer and he saved them all, I discovered later.

Something we didn’t expect and it happens, is that once the incision healed, Hal felt fine and continued that way for some time. He felt and acted like a well man and it would have been easy to forget that this disease was buried deep inside him, and he certainly had retreated deeply into denial.

I was confused; perhaps the gloomy cancer movies were not entirely accurate. How was it possible that this man with cancer in his liver and colon could be feeling so well and energetic? Had the tumors disappeared? Had he cured himself?

Our focus was on the cancer but it was easy to forget for chunks of time that our lives weren’t the same as before. Hal felt well, he had his old energy back and had resumed his workload.

We were being given the gift of time to re-evaluate our lives and the way we spent our time, and unconsciously we were using this gift to shore up for what might be ahead of us.

to be continued in chapter 3: part 1