Friday, March 14, 2008
This Monday afternoon he's having a consultation and another round of tests at a Loop hospital and asked if I'd meet him afterward. He wants to have a drink, unwind and talk about it before he goes home. I said yes. I meant it when I said it.
But now I'm apprehensive. This is getting all too real for me. To be honest, I don't want to go. I don't even want it to be happening.
First of all, it's his prostate. What do I know about prostates? I've talked about every bloody aspect of uterine fibroids without so much as a shiver, so it's not that I'm squeamish. It's just that it's the male reproductive system this time.
Secondly, it's cancer. I know it's non-aggressive, and I realize that since it was discovered when he was over 50, he's more likely to die of something else. But I reject him even having cancer! He and his wife have always been a very well matched couple, and now that their daughter has grown up successfully and gone, he's seemed so satisfied with his marriage and his life. I simply do not want him to have cancer. Not him, not now. No.
So I'm uncomfortable, sad and scared.
I know how this sounds: "me, me, me," and "I, I, I." I'm a selfish little beast, aren't I? HE is the one who is ill! And it would be even more monstrously selfish if I let him see how rattled this has left me.
So I'm mentally cracking myself across the face and admonishing myself to "Snap out of it!"
*Yes, it is SO the Beatles. I hate that a generation will think it was written for a bank ATM commercial!
On a scale of 1-10 (with 10 as highest), how much do you like your own handwriting? Nine. My writing is distinctive and kinda pretty.
Do you prefer baths or showers? If I've got time, I prefer baths.
What was the last bad movie you watched? Valley of the Dolls. Deliciously awful.
Name something you are addicted to and describe how it affects your life. Classic Coke. I'm sure it would be easier to lose weight if I could cut back and switch to water.
Which instrument is your favorite to listen to? Piano. No, guitar. No, piano …