Three stories that have nothing to do with each other...

I have three stories floating around inside my head.

They are in no way related to each other.

They are just three stories.

There may not even be a lesson learned, or any great insights from them.  But they are about this journey, so I will tell them.


*Story One

For the past three weeks (literally) I have had bronchitis.

It is quite possible that I am under a little bit of stress and
so my body is having a hard time fighting the sickness.

Maybe.

I have bronchitis so badly that I do nothing but cough.

Cough. cough. cough.

I cough so hard I throw up.

All of my meals, and nothing at all.

I cough so hard I pee my pants.

(You can make fun of me all you want to, but if you have ever given birth to a baby, or you KNOW a woman who has ever given birth to a baby--then you will CLEARLY understand what coughing and peeing have in common in this instance.)

I told my husband that I was NOT going to miss a trip to chemo with him.  

My place is beside him, it is where I want to, and need to, be.

Well, as anyone darn well knows--bronchitis and chemo and hospitals don't go very well together.

I had no idea what I was going to do.  

But I DID KNOW I was not willing to miss a round of chemo with Kyle.

Two Thursdays ago I told myself "mind over matter!  You WILL NOT cough today.  you will not cough today.  you will not cough today."

Like that ever does me any good. (mind over matter).

I got ready and told Kyle I was NOT going to cough.

Long story short, I went through the ENTIRE day, with him, without one cough.  NOT ONE COUGH.

I wish I could say I were lying, or exaggerating, or telling a tall tale--but all of THOSE THINGS would be a lie.

I did NOT COUGH one time at treatment.

When we came that night, I coughed so hard I threw up, again.

Imagine that.

Fast forward to this Thursday.

Same thing.

Cough. Cough. Cough.

Vomit.

Pee.

Cough.

All week long.

I woke up Thursday and said again "I'm going."

Once again I spent the entire day without ONE cough. 

Not one cough.

I came home and have been coughing ever since.

I cannot try and make sense of any of it.

It makes no sense to me.  I cannot imagine how, or why, or what.

I'm not even saying it was anything extra-ordinary, or miraculous or tender-mercy-ish.

I'm just telling you what happened.

I was where I needed to be, and wanted to be.

By my husbands side during his chemo treatments.

No coughing whatsoever.

Make of it what you will.

Or make nothing of it at all.



*Story Two

Wednesday night before "Chemo Thursday" Kyle and I were talking together in bed and I said to him...

You know I really really really wish you didn't have cancer.

I hate this.

I wish I could make it go away.

He agreed with me.

We don't choose to do this.

We don't want to do this.

We both hate this.

But there is no changing.

If we could somehow claw and fight and scream like crazy and make it all go away, we would.

We just want to be clear that this is STILL not something we face joyfully, or gladly.

We wish 

we wish

oh how we wish

that Kyle did not have this.

That's all.

Just in case you all thought we were strong or something.


*Story Three

In our married life, Kyle has been known to loose his wallet and keys a few times.

And misplace things and forget where they have been placed.

Me?  Not so much.

If there is a hook, I hang my keys.

It seems to be a system that works for not loosing my keys.

For me, anyway.

Driving up to chemo on Thursday I asked if he had my cough drops in his "Chemo Backpack" (the one we pack every week for a 9 hour day.)

He said he thought he had taken them out.

I was not very happy.

In fact, I was mad.

(About cough drops, I know what can I say?)

But really I was MORE mad that we were spending another 9 hour day at doctors and appointments and dripping poison into Kyle's arm. 

I was MORE angry he had cancer.

I was MORE angry that this was now our life.

I would rather have been going to do something FUN with my husband.

Like a movie.

Or a fun trip to New York.

Or grabbing breakfast.

Or walking around Home Depot, for heavens sake.

I asked why he had taken the cough drops out of the bag.

He didn't remember why he had.

I was to the point of tears.

(Remember this wasn't REALLY about the cough drops--it was about the cancer, and the disruption to our lives).

He, in his always kind and quiet way, offered to stop and run into a grocery store and get some for me.

He told me to time him.

I told him to go to ....  well, to hurry.

He pulled into the parking lot, left the car running and ran in to get some cough drops for me.

(He was pretty fast for the record.)

I sat in the car, crying quietly.

I felt sorry for myself.

And for him.

And my family.

And this life that was now ours for the living.

Why?

WHY?

why?

He returned with a bag of cough drops and I hung my head in shame, apologizing for being angry.

At him.

And the cancer.

And the cough drops.

He said to forget about it, it was fine.

The cough drops sat alone all day in his backpack.

Because as you read in Story One, I never coughed.

Not one time.

All day long.

I was angry for no reason.

About the cough drops.

But I'm still not very happy about the cancer.

(As noted in Story Two.)