LOOKING BACK, I CAN see clearly now the reason I was acting out like this was simply because I was lost. It’s not an excuse; I know I was wrong and as much of a jackass as anyone could be, but I felt defeated. I never let on about how I felt though. As far as Gina or the kids or anyone was concerned, I was up for the fight and I was ready to win. Getting through the days was difficult, especially given all of the various regular life tasks that still abounded. I would drop her off at chemo and then go on to work. We had a prearranged ride for her to bring her home from chemo, whether it be my mom, my sister, whatever. It was hard to leave her, but we knew what we had to do to fight so it became more a matter of obligation than bonding time.
Being able to go to work was good for me. I was still able to just walk in that door and resume my old life again. Chatting coworkers and a ringing phone distracted me from the cloud of doom that hovered over the rest of my life. Getting immersed in my business and solving problems, dealing with clients; all of that really helped me to cope.
I knew that I needed an outlet and like most guys, I was hesitant about therapy. I tried to do it on my own and seek out my own therapist. I tried talking to my mom about my feelings but she just shut me down. She kept saying that it was not about me and that I was selfish thinking about myself when my wife was fighting off death. That’s a hard pill to swallow, especially when it comes from your mother. She was right, but what about me? My life was turned upside down too and not just by the inconveniences of doctors and treatments. I was scared shitless that I was going to lose my wife. I was scared that my kids were going to lose their mother. On top of being scared, I was worried that I didn’t know how to fill that role for them or for me. I didn’t sign on for any of this, but this is the pile of crap that life dropped in my hands.
As you might imagine, throughout this entire period there was zero intimacy between Gina and myself. I’m not just talking about sex, I mean overall intimacy. Each day was literally about getting through the next sickness or the next treatment. I started to feel like we were just two people on the same team, not necessarily a husband and wife. I loved her of course, but that intimate connection had waned. If you ask me, the chemo killed it.
This period went on from January to early summer. Every three weeks (initially four) she would get her treatment on Wednesdays, be sick Thursday through Sunday, and then we would get a break for Monday and Tuesday. Mondays were the best because Tuesdays were always tainted with the looming doom of Wednesday, when it would start all over again. The kids were great with it all. They came to know the post-treatment days as Mommy’s sick days and tried to do nice things for her these days.
Even though we knew it was coming, when her hair fell out it very deflating to both of us. It’s one thing to know what you’re in the midst of fighting, but when you see those physical changes, you can tell that you’ve taken a punch.
If you haven’t gone through this, brace yourself, because this is a hard thing to go through. You watch the woman you love suffer so much while you and the people around her suffer for her. The worse thing is, there’s no guarantee any of it is going to work. I started to live in the minute and in essence, built some walls between Gina and myself. I would help her, but from time to time I would escape to my bar and my group of friends that I knew were the wrong kinds of people to be around. They were enablers, but to me, they were the only people that saw it from my angle. Looking back, I don’t know if they really saw it from my angle. Hell, they probably didn’t see it at all. They just wanted someone to drink and if that was my reason then it was good enough for them. But they fed my needs. They gave me the affection I was longing for. They made me feel like I belonged.