Confronting Your Own Mortality

Most people in their early thirties don’t have to confront their own mortality. But my husband and I, almost seven years into our marriage, had to face his aggressive cancer diagnosis.

It all started with a cough at the peak of the COVID pandemic. His work required him to get tested. I remember him telling me that he normally would have just gone to work with a cough this mild. But by the time the test came back two days later, we were hoping it was positive. He had developed shortness of breath and a discomfort in his chest. He said if it wasn’t COVID, then something was really wrong. Looking back, that seems like foreshadowing.

Well, it wasn’t COVID. He went back to urgent care for tests, and after follow-ups and a few days waiting for results, was told to go immediately to the ER. Due to the pandemic, I wasn’t allowed to go back with him. Thankfully, I decided I would sit in that waiting room until I knew what was wrong with him, instead of going home for the night as the nurse suggested. A while later, a nurse came to bring me back to his room.

“I thought I wasn’t allowed to go back,” I said.

“There are certain circumstances where we make an exception,” she replied.

My heart dropped in that moment. That was the first time I really believed something terrible was happening. I sat with my husband while they told us that, not only did he need emergency heart surgery, but there was a mass in his chest. My mask suddenly became stifling, and my glasses kept fogging up from my hot breath. I kissed my husband and told him I loved him, before he was taken back for surgery.

At one point, the surgeon asked me if I would like to see a scan of the mass. The moment was so surreal, like an episode of Grey’s Anatomy. You know the ones where there is a “big beautiful tumor” inside of some patient, and the surgeons get the joy of cutting it out? It was like that, only the tumor was in my husband’s chest, and they couldn’t cut it out. But boy, the surgeon was amazed by the size of it. He showed me how it took up most of my husband’s chest, putting pressure on his heart and compressing his esophagus.

The surgeon had taken a biopsy of the tumor during the heart surgery. I remember him telling me that my husband was young and had a real chance at beating this, so he was going to do everything he could to get the results as fast as possible. I think he knew then that it was probably aggressive cancer. I also think that his rush on getting the results back may have just saved my husband’s life.

I had to go home, unable to visit my husband again for days, while we waited for the confirmation that he did have cancer. They had me on Facetime when they told him. That still breaks my heart when I think about it. That I couldn’t be there to hug him at that moment.

The next few days were a whirlwind: telling family and friends, moving my husband to a facility that could treat his rare type of cancer, and meeting with doctors. There was one moment that stood out to me during all of this. I’m not sure when exactly it was, but my husband told me the doctor had put his odds of survival at 50/50. Then, he told me that he would be alright, because he had used an app to flip a coin and guessed it right.

“It would have been depressing if I’d got it wrong,” he said.

It was then that I knew we’d be ok, not because he got the coin flip right, but because we could still laugh amidst all the fear and uncertainty. Ultimately, my husband was still the same man he was before this news that would now divide our life into two parts: pre-cancer and post-cancer. That’s not to say we didn’t change throughout this struggle, I don’t think anyone could be completely unchanged by cancer, but at our core we stayed true to ourselves.

Another memory I always find amusing is how my husband refused to shave his head. He thought at one point it would all fall out, so why bother? Well, anyone who’s watched someone go through chemo knows that their hair falls out in patches, which is why most people shave it. But not my husband. No matter how crazy it looked, he stubbornly refused.

In fact, the crazier it looked the more it entertained him. Why? Let me share his reasoning with you.

You see, it was obvious to anyone that saw him that, not only did he look ridiculous, but he also had cancer. Any reasonable person would wonder: why doesn’t he shave his head, or at least wear a hat? But of course, no one could say that to him. To say that to someone with cancer would make them an asshole. My husband found this hilarious.

It became a sort of joke at his oncologist’s office. His doctor would greet him with “nice hair”, and the nurses would ask if he was sure he didn’t want them to shave his head. Even his mom, a very sweet lady, would politely try to convince him to shave his head. He found her exasperation very entertaining.

There are many other moments of humor we’ve found throughout this process, despite the fact that my husband is still going through chemo. To end on a happy note, my husband has been in remission for a year now. I am amazed everyday by his strength, and the strength of others we have met during this battle.

I hope no one reading this has to go through cancer, but I know many of you are or will. If you do, don’t let it break you. Find ways to laugh, even if it seems a little twisted. I would love to hear your stories of using humor to overcome hardships, or just talk about what you have been through. I hope this story helps in some way.

Thanks so much for reading!

-Ashley AKA Clever