It's a wonder that we have any forests left at all …
What makes me say that?
Well, after parking his car next to mine, I see that Will's arms are full of catalogues, pamphlets and junk mail of various sizes. Why? Because my husband's pragmatic nature stopped at our neighborhood's communal stack of mailboxes before he drove up the street, pulled his silver BMW into our garage and spied me moving toward the driver's side of his car.
Over the years, I've embraced the patience to accept Will's pragmatistic traits, so choosing to exhale impatience while waiting to hear what the urologist said, I follow my husband, a surgeon of methodical habit, from our garage into the laundry room and through the house as we make our way toward the expansive space of our light, bright, all white-highlighted-with-primary-colors-whimsically decorated kitchen. Then, while I stand in wait next to Will, who's begun to separate fliers from bills, this man of few words holds out a small square, hand addressed envelop, which will offer up a thank you note. Upon accepting the envelop, I place it unopened on the center island, reach out for his hand and calmly say, Will, can't the mail wait till we've discussed what the urologist said? And there it is, question number one ...
Though it's not easy to pry Will's mind loose while he's on task, this man, who's shared my life since I was seventeen, turns toward me and as our eyes meet, my natural instinct to hug him, protectively, emerges, again. And this, our second nuturing embrace of the day, will lead toward sharing countless more as the next several months unfold. Then, hand in hand, we make our way out of the kitchen, back through the dining room and into the living room, where we sit, side by side on the couch, one of three, shaped into a conversational 'U'. Generally, while sitting together, our eyes face our built-in T.V. Not so, today.
Today, my eyes are glued to the serious expression covering Will's face while I steel my mind to hear that which he seems reluctant to say, as though whatever remains unexpressed is not yet real …
He found a polyp, Annie.
What? A polyp? But Michael said ...
I know what Michael said, but Dr. B. does this, every day, so his sensitivity has developed to a greater degree.
Does a polyp mean ... cancer?
It means we need to check further.
So what's next?
I need to schedule a biopsy.
Who will do it ... Dr. B?
Yes.
Where?
At his office.
When?
Hopefully, if he has time, within a couple of days.
I'm going with you.
Of course.
It won't be cancer.
Will is quiet ...
So am I
Most of our evening is quiet. Pensive.
Neither of us feels very hungry
While sitting side by side, watching a favorite show on our DVR
We each get lost in our own thoughts, causing us
To lose track of whatever's taking place in plain sight just like
People who sleepwalk past any truth too painful to face fully awake
And it's then that I come face to face with this fact:
I know nothing about prostate cancer
Unlike breast cancer, I don't even know anyone who's had it …
Except for one cousin, who lives across the country
And I remember wondering if his mind was in order
When he'd chosen not to treat it ...
I remind Will of this and hold my breath, because …
Now I remember one fact concerning prostate cancer:
Generally speaking, it's slow to grow …
At first, Will is quiet
Then he replies, if it's cancer, I'll treat it
Sighing in agreement, I'm relieved hear it
Thoughts of cancer growing inside a person I love makes me shudder
I think of my mother ...
What happens after the biopsy?
Let's take this one step at a time, Annie ...
If Will is a one-step-at-a-time kind of guy, I am the same when seriously alarmed. In fact, stopping to re-organize my mind to think smart under pressure is the reason why I take time out on the spot. Taking time out on the spot became a conscious habit after I learned that oxygenation re-energizes my brain to operate effectively.
So if, when stressed, I know myself to be a one-step-at-a-time-kind-of-person, here is what I am not: I'm not one who runs to my computer to study up on illness. And this is where the lay person in me differs from the surgeon in Will.
Will gets off the couch, walks into our home office/second guest room
And takes a medical text off of one of the book shelves that climb up to the ceiling.
Being that I'm Will's computer secretary
My husband, partner and dear friend of forty seven years
Calls out, asking me to Google prostate cancer
While choosing which website to open, I ask: What'dju think of Dr. B?
I liked him.
Did he seem thorough?
My first impression is yes … time will tell … Annie …
We're not telling anyone anything until after the biopsy
I know
If it's cancer, we'll tell the boys first
Of course … and we'll tell them in person. But Will … it won't be …
As long as my brain is not frayed by fearsome exhaustion
I hang my hat on pragmatic discretion, buoyed by
A hopeful sense of positive focus …
I mean, really—I'm not called Pollyana for nothin'
Now that Will is ready to mind-wrestle with
The website on the computer screen
I stand up, and he takes my seat
Then, bending to plant a protective kiss on his cheek
I make my pensive way into our bedroom
Turn on a soothing CD, the volume set so low as to be barely audible
Because, somehow, this inspires my mind to relax quite deeply
And having instinctively created a haven that proves peaceful
I reach for my mini iPad
Thus immersing my conscious mind in a heartfelt activity
That deepens my personal sense of security …
Namely, writing or editing a post or checking nations in stats
Or connecting with family and friends via email
And while busying my spirit with positively focused, mental activity …
I'll have no clue whatsoever as to the subconscious state of terror
Which will, over the next two months, proceed to coil up
Deep within my mind until the calendar turns to September …
And day by day, anxiety will deepen until suddenly the cap separating
Tightly coiled terror from my conscious mind snaps off and
Life feels so dark and scary that all sense of logic implodes …
Geez … how'd I leap from July to mid September when
So much happened in between …
What makes me say that?
Well, after parking his car next to mine, I see that Will's arms are full of catalogues, pamphlets and junk mail of various sizes. Why? Because my husband's pragmatic nature stopped at our neighborhood's communal stack of mailboxes before he drove up the street, pulled his silver BMW into our garage and spied me moving toward the driver's side of his car.
Over the years, I've embraced the patience to accept Will's pragmatistic traits, so choosing to exhale impatience while waiting to hear what the urologist said, I follow my husband, a surgeon of methodical habit, from our garage into the laundry room and through the house as we make our way toward the expansive space of our light, bright, all white-highlighted-with-primary-colors-whimsically decorated kitchen. Then, while I stand in wait next to Will, who's begun to separate fliers from bills, this man of few words holds out a small square, hand addressed envelop, which will offer up a thank you note. Upon accepting the envelop, I place it unopened on the center island, reach out for his hand and calmly say, Will, can't the mail wait till we've discussed what the urologist said? And there it is, question number one ...
Though it's not easy to pry Will's mind loose while he's on task, this man, who's shared my life since I was seventeen, turns toward me and as our eyes meet, my natural instinct to hug him, protectively, emerges, again. And this, our second nuturing embrace of the day, will lead toward sharing countless more as the next several months unfold. Then, hand in hand, we make our way out of the kitchen, back through the dining room and into the living room, where we sit, side by side on the couch, one of three, shaped into a conversational 'U'. Generally, while sitting together, our eyes face our built-in T.V. Not so, today.
Today, my eyes are glued to the serious expression covering Will's face while I steel my mind to hear that which he seems reluctant to say, as though whatever remains unexpressed is not yet real …
He found a polyp, Annie.
What? A polyp? But Michael said ...
I know what Michael said, but Dr. B. does this, every day, so his sensitivity has developed to a greater degree.
Does a polyp mean ... cancer?
It means we need to check further.
So what's next?
I need to schedule a biopsy.
Who will do it ... Dr. B?
Yes.
Where?
At his office.
When?
Hopefully, if he has time, within a couple of days.
I'm going with you.
Of course.
It won't be cancer.
Will is quiet ...
So am I
Most of our evening is quiet. Pensive.
Neither of us feels very hungry
While sitting side by side, watching a favorite show on our DVR
We each get lost in our own thoughts, causing us
To lose track of whatever's taking place in plain sight just like
People who sleepwalk past any truth too painful to face fully awake
And it's then that I come face to face with this fact:
I know nothing about prostate cancer
Unlike breast cancer, I don't even know anyone who's had it …
Except for one cousin, who lives across the country
And I remember wondering if his mind was in order
When he'd chosen not to treat it ...
I remind Will of this and hold my breath, because …
Now I remember one fact concerning prostate cancer:
Generally speaking, it's slow to grow …
At first, Will is quiet
Then he replies, if it's cancer, I'll treat it
Sighing in agreement, I'm relieved hear it
Thoughts of cancer growing inside a person I love makes me shudder
I think of my mother ...
What happens after the biopsy?
Let's take this one step at a time, Annie ...
If Will is a one-step-at-a-time kind of guy, I am the same when seriously alarmed. In fact, stopping to re-organize my mind to think smart under pressure is the reason why I take time out on the spot. Taking time out on the spot became a conscious habit after I learned that oxygenation re-energizes my brain to operate effectively.
So if, when stressed, I know myself to be a one-step-at-a-time-kind-of-person, here is what I am not: I'm not one who runs to my computer to study up on illness. And this is where the lay person in me differs from the surgeon in Will.
Will gets off the couch, walks into our home office/second guest room
And takes a medical text off of one of the book shelves that climb up to the ceiling.
Being that I'm Will's computer secretary
My husband, partner and dear friend of forty seven years
Calls out, asking me to Google prostate cancer
While choosing which website to open, I ask: What'dju think of Dr. B?
I liked him.
Did he seem thorough?
My first impression is yes … time will tell … Annie …
We're not telling anyone anything until after the biopsy
I know
If it's cancer, we'll tell the boys first
Of course … and we'll tell them in person. But Will … it won't be …
As long as my brain is not frayed by fearsome exhaustion
I hang my hat on pragmatic discretion, buoyed by
A hopeful sense of positive focus …
I mean, really—I'm not called Pollyana for nothin'
Now that Will is ready to mind-wrestle with
The website on the computer screen
I stand up, and he takes my seat
Then, bending to plant a protective kiss on his cheek
I make my pensive way into our bedroom
Turn on a soothing CD, the volume set so low as to be barely audible
Because, somehow, this inspires my mind to relax quite deeply
And having instinctively created a haven that proves peaceful
I reach for my mini iPad
Thus immersing my conscious mind in a heartfelt activity
That deepens my personal sense of security …
Namely, writing or editing a post or checking nations in stats
Or connecting with family and friends via email
And while busying my spirit with positively focused, mental activity …
I'll have no clue whatsoever as to the subconscious state of terror
Which will, over the next two months, proceed to coil up
Deep within my mind until the calendar turns to September …
And day by day, anxiety will deepen until suddenly the cap separating
Tightly coiled terror from my conscious mind snaps off and
Life feels so dark and scary that all sense of logic implodes …
Geez … how'd I leap from July to mid September when
So much happened in between …
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