(With Apologies to Newsweek) My Churn

As Leslie has noted several times, I've played the role of the optimist - hearing the "but" in doctor reports, or reminding her that Internet searches often shed more heat than light. I'm the editor who mines the good news to convey to friends and family (Leslie walked two miles today, she's back to working out with her trainer) while downplaying the flip side (she was too exhausted to make dinner afterward).

In the wake of the news that Leslie's cancer had returned, I've continued to try keeping both of us "up" - after all, with a few days' exception, Leslie is feeling pretty good at the moment.  I keep fetching the ice cream, forwarding Internet memes, urging her to get out and exercise, making decisions on my own, or even joking about our situation (obeying the dictum of Mayor Rahm who says "never let a crisis go to waste").

But, as optimism gets tempered by realism, it's been hard to escape my thoughts being like the "washing machine" at the base of a river rapid.  There, the water and rocks combine to trap anything that comes their way, big or small - sticks, trash, kayaks - and churn then constantly without release.  Things get pulled beneath the surface, out of sight, only to flash up again in the roil.

My mind pinballs among past, present and future, and it's far too easy for all three to become conflated and compressed, as though Dickens' three Christmas ghosts have descended at once and are battling for my attention.

I'll fix my focus on work, only to worry whether I ought to cancel work commitments in order to be with Leslie.  With no good way of predicting the course of her disease, though, that would be defeatist - hovering (physically and emotionally) in wait for decline.  One of the things that keeps me upbeat - thereby making me a more effective caregiver - is continuing with the things I love, including my work with amazing, creative people all over the world (I'm writing this on a flight to LA; next week is Vegas and then Munich).  Some deadlines slip as I struggle to stay motivated and focused; if I'm slow in replying to an email, you'll know what's up.  Moreover, at any moment the eddying waters can dredge up an image of my being halfway around the world when Leslie has a crisis moment.

This is as hard to write as it is to think, but often the whirlpool tosses up thoughts of a time when Leslie is no longer here. 

We've been married over 30 years and, while it's a cliche, I have no hesitation in admitting that she is my (our) better half.  If you need a pun or a run, I'm your man; if you need a faucet repaired, taxes done, a thoughtful approach to child rearing, emotional insight, a vacation planned, or consultation on developmental neuropsychology, call Leslie.

Do I want to stay in our home alone? Where would I want to live? Even if I could answer these, would I have any concept how to prepare and sell a house, pare back possessions, make a move?  Without Leslie's lead, could I overcome my social anxieties and find a community of friends?

Am I up to completing the task of raising our daughters? They're so close to "polished," but the past seven months and whatever is to come will surely lay stumbling blocks before them.

I try to command my mind to stop - Leslie's very much still here.  It's not helpful to deny the situation, but dwelling on that future blocks us from using our time to its fullest, including tapping Leslie's wisdom; she's been amazing about encouraging me to talk about my fears as well as hers.

Ghosts of the past make appearances, as well.  Leslie and I have always had a travel mantra of "leave something for next time."  I can't help but think of things we've left that now loom undone.  With over 400,000 air miles in the bank (the irony of earning a lot is that you don't really want to travel any more to spend them...), I've offered Leslie a trip anywhere in the world, but we face the conundrum that the treatment we hope will extend her life demands that she not be away from Chicago for more than a week.  Ah, well, Portland, Seattle, Vancouver and Nova Scotia are still high on our "to see" list!

There you have it; a glimpse into the mind of a cancer patient's partner.  Just this week, we engaged the services of a professional organizer, to help us declutter our home.  I wonder if she does brains.