There is not, at this time, much more I can say about my husband’s second cancer diagnosis. We are still working hard at fighting the growth with diet and clean living, and he has a surgery planned in two weeks to remove the cancerous growths. After that time he will undergo cancer treatment, which I am unsure of at this time what mode of attack the oncologist thinks is best. There is also a very good chance this surgery will affect his vocal cords and permanently change his voice, something we weren’t expecting. He could possibly end up sounding like the Christian Bale version of Batman, or Clint Eastwood. We couldn’t help but nervously chuckle at the prospect because of this Batman parody video that we oftentimes referenced in years past. But the possibility of severing the nerve in his vocal cord is a very strong possibility this time, and something we will all just have to get used to hearing if the damage is unavoidable. But this pretty much sums up our resolve at this time:
I recently ran my 13th marathon, state #10, at Virginia Beach this past weekend. I was emotionally drained and did NOT want to leave him at home while I went to this event. I felt like it was a selfish thing to do on my part, but he insisted that I go. He didn’t want us to put our lives on hold, but to keep LIVING as if nothing was going wrong. He wanted me to kick ass, earn that medal, and wouldn’t allow me to stay home even though I was emotionally distraught at the idea of leaving him at home that weekend while I road-tripped it with my cousin. But he has always been my biggest supporter, my biggest fan, and he wouldn’t allow me to stay home; he wanted me to continue to reach for my dreams.
I finished the race (a race report will eventually be written, but in a nutshell, it was a pretty sucktastic marathon), and throughout the course I thought of him, what he was going through, and what is to come. It make me come to tears many, many times. Marathons are emotional enough on their own without extra variables to step in and take over, and honestly I just felt like an absolute mess.
I wore my F*ck Cancer patch on my Marathon Maniac singlet, and several people high-fived me and encouraged me throughout the race. They knew and understood its message all too well. One gentleman told me God Bless as he passed me on the racecourse, and tears stung my eyes as I graciously thanked him. I was practically sobbing as I hit Mile 26 and saw the finish line; Chris’ strength, love and support was the fuel that I needed to fight my way to the finish.
Cancer affects every single one of us. No one can deny that they know someone who currently is fighting cancer or who has lost the battle. Anyone who thinks their life is hard or sucks needs to realize that it could be so much worse than it is; I look at him, and still see him laughing, smiling, full of hugs and enthusiasm, and he has cancer. And yet he STILL thinks his life could be so much worse than it is, that alone is such an incredible thing to see. He’s strong, resilient, and I know he will kick cancer’s ass again…hopefully this time for GOOD. Time will tell, and I promise to provide updates as they come.
In the meantime we will continue to .
We won’t let cancer destroy us. It will only strengthen our will to fight.