367 days ago, a doctor at Wesley confirmed to Brad what I already knew. Granted, a doctor with a very harsh bedside manner had gut punched us 8 days prior with the words "pancreatic cancer" when we thought we were seeing him to get a referral for a biopsy procedure to find out what we were dealing with exactly. I remember asking him how he could know without a doubt that it was pancreatic. The only tests he had received so far was an MRI. No biopsy. No PET scan. Nothing like that. I will never ever forget the words he said, "I've seen this enough, I just know." He then patted Brad on the shoulder, told him "sorry for the bad news" and walked out the door. People have told me so many times over the past months how strong I am. Little do they know that on that day, Brad was the strong one. I crumbled. I sobbed. My knees buckled. Somehow I managed to shoot a text off to my friend that simply said "I'm going to lose him." He had to fill out the paperwork for the upcoming ERCP on his own. He had to go back for the CA19-9 blood draw. The one who had just been told one of the worst cancers out there was growing inside him, had the strength I couldn't find and kept it together while I completely fell apart.
Once we made it out to the car, I finally pulled myself together. We made phone calls to the doctor in Wichita to verify his appointment the following Wednesday (October 18th) for the biopsy. The next week was a blur of trying to be as normal as possible while silently falling apart with fear inside and diving head first into research. The stats weren't good but there's got to be SOMEONE who makes up those few and far between "good" stats. Why couldn't that be Brad?
The ERCP/biopsy went well, or so we thought. He was in and out in no time and we were sent home with a list of things to watch for as possible side effects and the preliminary results from the procedure complete with images. I know I kept or did my best to keep a positive outward appearance even though I had read the report extensively. Researched the words I didn't understand and tried to live in a state of denial all the while knowing what that damn doctor told us almost a week ago was true. We were getting ready for the fight of our lives against a disease that doesn't even think about playing fair.
Less than 12 hours later, scared out of my mind, we would find ourselves pushing the speed limits on our way back to Wesley for a very extensive and uncomfortable day in the Emergency Room. One of the possible side effect from the procedures he had done was pancreatitis and after FOUR hours of sitting in them ER waiting room and another THREE hours in an ER cubical, we had confirmation that Brad's pancreases was pissed off and we were dealing with a severe case of pancreatitis. They did the first of many CT scans and a very sincere ER doctor came in to talk to myself, Brad and Sarah (who graciously hung out with us all day!). He was somewhat beating around the bush a little and I finally came out and said "we know he has cancer". Brad and Sarah didn't know that I myself had already read the CT report where for the first time, I saw the information on how large the tumor was, that there was also tumors all over his abdominal cavity and that what we were dealing with was super bad. I'm not sure if the pain meds and exhaustion were to blame, but Brad didn't fully pick up what I said. I'm not sure Sarah did either. They admitted us and finally, after over 8 hours in that very unpleasant place, we were headed to a room.
Thankfully, the antibiotics they gave him worked wonders to calm his diva pancreas down. His blood work started turning around and his color (which had still been very yellow) started to return to normal. However, we still hadn't received the official word on what we were dealing with. I can't remember all the details of these days. I know I was pissed at the care he was getting. I was pissed at the way we were not being listened too. We wanted a second opinion. We wanted to go to Houston. We wanted our questions answered. What I DO remember is me being the one who had to tell my strong, brave husband that he did indeed have pancreatic cancer. I do remember the sweet attending who our amazing nurse went and found for me after the oncologist finally came in and basically just assumed we knew what we were dealing with. I DO remember sitting on Brad's bed on the fourth floor in Wesley hospital and telling him that I had known for a little while what we were dealing with and that I didn't care what the statistics were, we were going to do whatever it took to fight like hell and get him better. One Hundred Eighty Ones days later, I would lay with him in his hospital bed on the seventh floor of Wesley hospital as he closed those amazing eyes and took his last breath.
That was six months ago. Half a year. For many, the grieving started that sunny April afternoon. For me, it started 367 days ago. Hearing a loved one has cancer sucks. Hearing it's pancreatic cancer and having it be your other half, it changes you. It cuts you to the core. It crushes you. It sucks the air from your lungs and leaves you gasping for air on the inside while you try and hold your shit together on the outside. It changes you and it changes your loved on almost immediately. It's been six months since I've heard him say he loves me but it's been 367 days since I saw the light in his eyes that only lives before you hear those horrible words. It's hard. It sucks and it's so not fair. But when I close my eyes and think about him, I still see him. I still hear that laugh. Still see that ornery smile and am forever grateful for the years I had with him.
I spent yesterday dealing with our cows. Moving them from pasture to pasture to get ready for appearance checks. It wasn't lost on me that I was out in the pastures he loved so much. Could I have used help? Probably but it was nice to be out there, just me and the cows, slowly moving our way across the sand hills, listening to the Chiefs game. I know he was there with me. Probably was the reason the 12 stragglers decided to realize they were by themselves as they were waiting for me at the water hole when I went back to look for them.
Kind of fitting also that I realized tonight as I was listening a Monday night Chiefs recap show and realized what week it is. The week marking six months since his passing and a year since we found out the news, just so happens to be "Raiders Week". If you know, you know.
Add comment
Comments
😢❤️