It's all dead

“It’s all dead.”

Tanya and I listened to the voicemail again. And again. Then once more.

It was from the oncologist’s assistant.

“It” is the cancer that had invaded my wife’s body and hijacked our lives.

It’s all dead.

This lady wouldn’t call and say such a thing without the oncologist’s blessing, would she? Surely he has seen the test results and given her the OK to let us know, right?

The double mastectomy and the chemotherapy had succeeded.

In spite of all the awful side effects (hair loss, painful white-blood cell booster shots, agonizing pain in her fingernails, plus other indignities I won’t list here), the sleepless nights, the lingering stares of strangers in public, the frustrating callousness of so-called “friends”, all of it….my wife wins.

Tanya 1, Breast Cancer 0. How you like them apples?

She was so excited; she immediately drove to her parents’ house to tell them the good news. She wrote the following on her blog:

·         I'll see my girls graduate high school.

·         I'll get to see them both go to college and decide what they want to do with their lives.

·         I'll get to see them meet the man of their dreams and fall in love.

·         I'll get to see them get married - I loved the day Chris and I got married and hope that they have as wonderful of a day as we did.

·         I'll get to see them have children - my grandchildren. I don't want them too early but I can't wait to meet them. They are going to be so special. I'm going to spoil them rotten. I'm going to smooch on them and bake cookies with them and just love them so much.

·         I'm going to see my daughters be mothers - and I know they'll be great at it.

Me, I wanted to jump up and down and scream, but I was hesitant. I wanted to hear it from the doctor himself. No mix-ups at the lab, no “unfortunate miscommunications” or some such nonsense that would shatter our hearts. We have pieced them back together so carefully after she was first diagnosed with breast cancer eight months ago. The thought of having them broken again was too much for me to even think about. No, I wanted to hear the oncologist tell my wife that she is officially IN REMISSION. Then I could finally relax and celebrate her – our – victory over breast cancer.

When we finally met with him the following day, he said the magic words, but not without some added drama.

He noticed swelling in her left leg during his exam and immediately worried about a blood clot. That put the brakes on the whole celebratory mood. You see, my wife was having another surgery the next day to have her ovaries removed. It was supposed to be a fairly simple outpatient procedure; she would be home by early afternoon if all went as planned.

A blood clot in her leg would scuttle all those plans. I thought to myself, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Can’t even imagine what my wife was thinking.

Other plans for that day were rescheduled; in their place was an ultrasound. All the “what-ifs?” reared their ugly heads again. What if they find one? The next surgery would be delayed, right? What happens then? We’re supposed to be celebrating and chanting “RE-MISS-ION!” like Cardinal players chanting “HAPPY FLIGHT!” during the 2011 World Series run (if you’re not a Cards fan, trust me – it was really cool). We’re not supposed to be in a goddamned hospital waiting room, scrambling to find someone to pick up our daughters from school.

Fortunately, nothing abnormal showed up on the ultrasound. Surgery #2 could take place as scheduled the next day.

The best part of the day was sitting down with our daughters and telling them the cancer is dead. Our 12-year-old tends to keep things bottled up inside. She didn’t say much at first, but we caught a glimpse of her joy when she hugged our cat a few minutes later and heard her whisper, “The cancer is gone, kitty. I’m so happy.”

Our younger one is 10. She wears her heart on her sleeve and grinned happily. She told me later that night that she would give up her One Direction concert tickets if it meant Tanya never had cancer again. Given her obsession with this British boy band, this would represent a major sacrifice in her world. I had tears in my eyes as I repeated it to Tanya later.

And I could allow myself to start thinking about our life in the long term again. We can make plans. This September will mark our 15^th anniversary. I look forward to it now with a full heart instead of a heavy one.

My wife’s blog closed with this line:  I am starting a new chapter. I have shut the door. Another opened. Life is good.

I agree and add this final thought: cancer can still suck it.