Dear Friends and Family,
Several of you have inquired about Nancy’s mental health.
I’ve been asked time and again, “How is Nancy doing?” I assume the real and true meaning to the question is “How is Nancy dealing with a life-threatening illness? How is she feeling?”
I must admit, I’ve pondered this very issue many times.
Nancy is the most giving and selfless human being I have ever encountered. She is always thinking of others, not herself. And yet she is facing life’s biggest mystery squarely in the eye.
How scared is she?
A little?
Somewhat?
Or just plain terrified?
Personally, I’m in the “terrified” category.
And is she depressed?
I am.
I ask myself over and over, “What more can I do? What can anyone do for that matter, and how can I facilitate it?”
Questions clatter in my head like the fast-moving balls of a pinball machine.
Nancy’s father had a long, protracted battle with throat cancer that wasn’t pretty. After his final surgery, he told Nancy, “I shouldn’t have done it. It wasn’t worth it.”
Is Nancy having similar reflections about her treatment?
Will she talk to me about her private thoughts?
Her fears?
I’ve always believed that Nancy and I were best friends and soul mates, able to tackle subjects tougher than the weather. But until last night, I’ve had quite honestly only fleeting glimpses of my wife’s deepest feelings. While I’m single-handedly supporting the Kleenex industry, I’ve only seen Nancy cry once and that was about disrupting Jayna’s Peru adventure.
Nancy has not wanted to discuss her disease, waving her hand and saying, “TMI (too much information),” when I wax medical. So I have surmised that she wants to process all that is happening to her silently and, for now, by herself.
I know this has to be a difficult time for her.
I hold her hand as much as she will allow.
Out of the blue, things changed this morning. For the first time, Nancy asked for her mobile phone.
“Hi, Mother, it’s Nancy.”
Leukemia has no effect on phonation. I suspect my mother-in-law knew her daughter’s voice, even though it was their first conversation since Nancy’s diagnosis.
“Yeah, they even have a nickname for me. I’m a ‘leukie.’”
Humor. One of Nancy’s primary MOs (and one that contributed to me falling head over heels for her). My tears contrasted her smile. Nancy’s tone, her face, even the use of her free hand all gave the same message: “I am now able to talk about my disease. I am fine.”
“That’s right, Mom. I guess you have to get ‘the big C’ to be admitted to the hospital these days. The ‘big B’ just isn’t good enough to get above the ground floor.”
Mary Lou, my mother-in-law, had recently taken an ambulance to the hospital for a bad back (the big B). She was sent home from the ER with a bunch of pills. Nancy’s cancer (the big C), however, was the ticket for an extended hospital stay. Room 842 East, LDS Hospital, Salt Lake City—where Nancy finally called her other family members, talked with Jayna and Jaret about her disease, and told me she was ready for a “serious” discussion about the future.
I attribute Nancy’s “opening up” to Jayna.
When Jayna arrived on the scene last week, one of her first comments was, “Daddy, didn’t you notice that this room is dreary?” I wanted to tell her that I was too busy taking care of her mother to notice, but, truth be known, such details are not usually on my radar.
That is not the case with Jayna.
Last night, a new nurse was on duty. Nancy was napping when she entered the room and whispered, “Do you know what we nurses have nicknamed this room? ‘The Garden.’ We’ve never seen so many flowers. And look at the cards, balloons, and presents. Your wife must really be popular.”
Our nurse was so right. The room display, plastic flowers and all, is but the tip of the iceberg. Calls, emails, letters, thoughts, and prayers continue to pour in like spring torrents in Utah. And it’s been raining hard here, almost every day.
I remain astounded at the support and caring, and Nancy gets close to crying each time I read your correspondences to her. It is a great consolation to our entire family that so many of you are with us in spirit since Nancy is unable to have visitors and is too weak to talk much on the phone. Still there is no doubt your display of love is helping her endure the present and grapple with her future.
Summary: Nancy seems to be in a good place. I will update you again as my energy and emotions permit. Right now, both are in a good place, with the love of my life leading the charge.
Peace,
Winnie