I am sitting here just wondering how much longer my husband will live. It's terrible watching someone you have lived with for over 42 years disappear before your eyes. Not that he hasn't really done this to himself, he's been a smoker since the age of 19 when he went into the Army.
I sit here and cry. I go to bed and I cry. Crying doesn't get anywhere and it give me a headache. But, I am really emotional and I cry at everything.
Let me tell you a little about this journey I've been on.
His voice began changing and I wanted him to go to see a doctor. "Oh, it's nothing. I'm alright." Mr. Macho man go to a doctor, are you kidding me? Well, time went on and his voice got worse. He wouldn't talk on the telephone. Not anything new there. He NEVER talked on the phone unless it was a dire necessity. Gave permission to whom ever was on the end of the line so that I could convey his thoughts (of course they were his thoughts yea, right). Any how, he started sneezing and his nose was running. Allergies he said. "Allergies in the winter?" I asked. "Hell yes" he said, the dry heat from the electric heat was the culprit.
Okay, now you know what I'm thinking, throat cancer. Yup, that's my untrained diagnosis. I don't voice this FEAR.
Finally, last June, I got him to see a doctor. "Those quacks don't know anything" was his reaction, but I did get him to go to see a primary care physician. We just received the government subsidized health care cause we have no money and didn't know where we were going to pay for said electric heat or to keep a roof over our head. (I can't work cause I'm plagued with a bad hip and back. But that a whole different story.)
Saw the physician. He referred (of course) hubby to a throat specialist that same day. We went and the probe was put in and yup, just like I suspected, the big C in his larynx. Throat Cancer. What can we do? Well it seems the Tumor Board only wants him to do one thing, Radiation. That's fine, but, he discovers that he is claustrophobic in the PET Scan machine. The mask they make is killing him. He can't stand to stay laying down. He's so skinny that he hurts on the bed of the machine. He's 122 lbs now. Down from 145 last year. (Amazing huh, no idea why he was losing weight.)
Well, he came through the PET Scan. The cancer hadn't spread, it was stage 2, but very curable. He talked about having his larynx out, but the nurse said they wouldn't do it cause it was curable with radiation.
After two weeks, all was well. Or so I thought. He said he wasn't hurting. I believed him because he never complained. That was my mistake. He looked forward to not having to go to the Cancer Center for 4 days. Labor Day holiday and then on Tuesday he was to have a stomach tube inserted so he could have nutrition pumped into his stomach cause of course the radiation should be making his throat sore by now. It was but he didn't complain. Doctor gave him pain meds but Mr. Macho didn't take them.
On Labor Day, he tells me he's not going to get the tube put in. I ask why and he said he's done with radiation. I'm stunned. I cry, of course, who wouldn't. The next day doctors call. Three of them. The oncologist, the gastroentologist and the throat specialist. He won't talk to them so I'm the messenger. I'm the whipping post. THEY tell me what's going to happen. As if I didn't know.
Well here it is, the following June and I did get him to go to see my doctor, different than him. How, by telling him I wouldn't have my hip replaced because I just couldn't do it with him sick. I had no one to help me after the surgery and so I didn't want to have it done. (How sick is that? I should be taking better care of myself so that I don't become incapacitated and I'm pulling this crap.)
Well, he goes to see my doctor, he's so nutritionally lax that he has to have salt tablets 4 times a day. These are large pills and he can barely swallow them. Takes only two a day and has blood drawn three times within 9 days. Salt level coming up. He doesn't take the pills for two days, another blood test, salt levels down again. Doctor calls says to take 6 a day. Yea right. I start cutting tablet in half he'll take them but only 4 a day.
Besides he want to have larynx out. Call to throat surgeon, he's on vacation until the 6th of July. Okay, we wait. My doctor is calling, says we really ought to see oncologist so we can get things going. He doesn't want to go into PET Scan again, so adamantly refuses to discuss this and just leaves me hanging with my doctor.
Throat doctor is in, nurse says that tumor board won't let him just have his voice box out because of laws in place. He's curable with radiation.
How sick is that? I'm watching him die. He starving to death. He's only eating pudding now. Won't eat anything if I puree it. Won't drink Ensure cause it leaves a funny taste in his mouth. He won't do anything to help himself and I sit here and cry.
I'm such a wuss. I love him. I don't want to live alone. I've seen a psychologist. He said I shouldn't feel guilty about this. HOW?
Oh, did I mention that we do have kids, but they are all living their lives. Especially his favorite. Who shall remain nameless. She's off living her life and does not want to involve herself with us. Why? How the hell do I know. Maybe I should just buy a gun and a couple of bullets. Hey my sister killed herself, am I any braver? I don't think so. I'm practical. I'm also Catholic. I don't want to kill myself. I repeat, I don't want to kill myself, so if any of you out there want to "turn me in as a flake, I'm not suicidal. I love life and my husband, but it hurts to see him die.
I'm blogging this so that I can vent my frustration only. Don't, please don't blog back and preach to me. I love my husband and myself.
Well, I guess that's enough ranting for one day. If you want, write your thoughts. If not let this go to blogger heaven.
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