This Machine Killed Cancer

Yesterday, Shayne got admitted to the hospital again. He’d had a cough + fevers that wouldn’t go away for a couple of weeks, so his oncologist decided to admit him for observation, IV antibiotics + steroids, and more tests. It looks like it’s an atypical infection or radiation pneumonitis (inflammation of lung tissue as a side effect from radiation) but we don’t have any conclusive results. 

None of this is surprising or out of the ordinary. Sometimes when I look at Shayne and think about all of the chemicals and radiation that have been pumped through his body, I’m not sure why he isn’t a pile of goo or glowing green. A machine gun cough + a fever, those we can manage, but I know he won’t be sad to see them go.

As I was driving to the hospital, I kept thinking, I have no idea how we did this for over a year or a month or even two days in a row. But then my thoughts turned to how there are families who are at the beginning of this struggle. There’s a partner frantically trying to rearrange a life that just got flipped upside down. Someone who just realized that this might be the last time they see the ocean… and my heart breaks. 

I sincerely wish I could say to each of those people that even on the darkest days, they’ll find strength. You’ll do things that you think would be completely impossible and afterwards, you won’t even remember how. 

Walking back onto four oncology, it started coming back. There were big smiles from nurses who would shout, “hooray, you’re back!” And while we both know that this is the last place we’d rather be, a warm welcome takes the sting away. Shayne was a late admission, but the food services guy recognized that and brought him a tray even though he didn’t have an order. The NA remembered us, asked about Shayne’s new last name, and tried to keep Shayne distracted while he got his IV. All throughout, I talked to my mom, sister, and my best friend in California. 

I remembered, it wasn’t just the two of us. That’s how we got by.