#not(JUST)myCANCER

Washington is a "community property state".  That means that half of her stuff is really mine and half of my stuff is really hers.  We have no problem with that.  In fact, we enjoy it.

It was only a few days ago that I realized that the community property law included prostate cancer.  Serious.  It is half hers.  The fear, the misery, the worry, all half hers.  And I had no idea.

I should have gotten the clue early.  That first night was miserable, FOR US BOTH.  I woke several times during the night to find Hanna clutching me tightly and sobbing her eyes out.  "A typical reaction to something bad" is what I thought.  "She'll be over it soon."  Yea right.  About as soon as I get over the cancer itself.

Years ago, I was the proud owner of two Chocolate Labs.  Very delinquent Chocolate Labs.  Wilbur and Cubie.  I had adopted, or more like saved them.  Wilbur's demise was that he had chewed a hole in the side of his owner's house so he could get inside to wreak havoc.  Yes.  I kid you not.  He chewed a hole IN THE SIDE OF THE HOUSE.  Cubie could jump about six feet straight up.  His demise was to use that jumping ability to go places where no other dog could go.  In this case, into the fenced off Satellite Dish that brought joy to his owner's television viewing.  Once in with the dish, he chewed every single wire as best as he could, ensuring that his owners would not watch TV for a long, long time.

BAD DOGS!!!  Each of their owners asked me to take their out-of-control dogs.  I did.  I lived on a 20-acre lot at the time.  Five of it was fenced in with an electric dog fence.  I loved training the dogs to stay inside the fence.  Chocolate Labs, when they are not shaking and slobbering with anxiety and hyperness, are very obedient creatures.  They both thrived at my place and became inseparable and best buds.  There were hardly ever any problems except for when the occasional porcupine would invade their space at which time they became mean killing machines (or so they thought).  The result was always me missing a day of work while I pulled dozens of quills out of their faces.  Chocolate labs are also very forgetful and easily distracted.  They would often get too close to the electric fence and get a slight electrical shock reminding them not to leave their five-acre electrical pen.

And that brings me to my point.  The fence ran along the side of the long driveway.  Both dogs loved chasing cars up and down that driveway, albeit from inside the confines of their pen, not on the driveway itself.  And as they did so, bouncing and jumping and grinning and slobbering, they would, Wilbur especially, forget where the fence was and take a bit of a shock to the neck.  It didn't hurt them, just startled them.  Still, it was enough to cause a reaction.  And Wilbur's reaction was to BITE CUBIE ON THE BUTT!  Yes, he would yelp with startlement from being shocked, and then turn around and bite his best buddy, playmate, and friend, on the butt.

I figured Cubie was an easy target to pick.  The only live creature around.  And it would be easy for a dog as senseless as Wilbur to blame Cubie.  And then bite his butt.

Cancer causes crankiness. I have been cranky.  And I deserve it.  I deserve to be as cranky as I want, because I FREAKIN' HAVE CANCER!  What I didn't realize, however, was that I was being just like Wilbur.  Being cranky to my best buddy, playmate and friend.  The closest human to me.  Hanna.  No, I did not bite her on the butt or anything like that.  I just wasn't my nice sweet self to her.  I was cranky, short and easily upsettable with her.  Because I HAVE CANCER!  And each time I was cranky with her or short with her or whatever with her, she would just tell me how much she loved me.  Very sweet.

If you think I've been cranky with her, you ought to see me with God.  Some time along the cancer trail, I decided he was obviously too overwhelmed with other people's problems to hear anything about mine.  So I started limiting my requests to him to one a day.  It is all he can handle.  Seriously.  I still want that miracle.

Thursday, I went back to the lab to be poked again to check on my PSA level.  That morning in my prayers, I commanded God, in the name of Christ, to miraculously heal me.  I know he has the power to do so.  I got up from my knees with a lot of hope.  The test would tell.  If the PSA dropped or even stayed the same, HALLELUJAH!!  GOD LIVES!!  If not, then more cranky prayers on my part.

Friday morning I got the call from the nurse.  She sounded almost frantic.  My PSA was now at 8, up from 7 just 90 days ago.  This fast of an increase in antigens means the cancer could be more aggressive than first thought.  She wanted to make sure I was going to go see a Urologist ASAP.  I have an appointment on April 22nd.  I won't die before then.

I was a mess the rest of the day.  The anger at God had turned to discouragement.  I accepted that he was not going to miraculously cure me.  If cured, it would be one day at a time.  I need to trust that.  Hard to do.  Seriously hard to do.

Saturday, the calendar called for me to attend Staff Development for Boy Scout Wood Badge training.  It is a place where I am expected to be upbeat and cheer others on and sing camp songs and do silly skits and keep the enthusiasm high.  I wasn't sure I could do it.  So my prayer that morning, my one single request that God may be able to handle, was that he would bless me to find a way to be upbeat.

And it happened!  I was!  I think I did OK.  With divine blessings!

As I pondered on that experience, it occurred to me that God had given me what I had been asking for every day that I asked for it pretty much the past few weeks.  No miraculous cure for cancer cells, but the little one-a-day things were happening.  I hadn't noticed.

And I realized that is how it needs to be for me to survive.  One day at a time.  I need to just worry about today, make the best of today, be happy today, and let tomorrow take care of itself.  And I want my todays to be HAPPY!  I made a conscious decision to do just that.  One freakin' day at a time.

On Friday, I had another eye opener.  I overheard folks asking Hanna how she was holding up with her husband having cancer.  She told them it was tough.  That she puts on a good positive face when she talks to people, especially during tax season, but would probably crash at some point.  That it was painful.  That she worried.  I was humbled and embarrassed and hurt for her.  She was hurting for me.  And BECAUSE of me.

During that process of deep thought (shocking, I know), I realized that I want to be happy one day at at time WITH HANNA.  This problem is half hers, right?  Community property state, remember?  So we might as well enjoy cancer TOGETHER.  If these are my last days with her, then I want them to be happy memories.  Not memories of her nursing me while I'm cranky at her. 

That evening I shocked her.  I asked her what I could do for her.  That was it.  I got back "Wow, what's gotten into you?"  I told her I just wanted to be as good as husband as she is a wife.  To that, she started pouring out her tender feelings.  Her fears.  Her concerns.  Her worries.  It was like that first night again, where she spent the entire night clutching me tightly and sobbing.  We talked about what would happen with our business if something were to happen to me.  My will.  The life insurance policy.  The finances.  She had a lot of worries.  And she had been holding them back from me.  Because it is me that has cancer.  I listened closely and validated.  And when she was finished, I asked again what I could do for her.  She replied "you just did it."  Listening.  It's quite a relationship tool.

My best days have been spent with Hanna at my side.  Together we climbed the only active volcano in the entire lower 48 states.  We could not have done it without each other.  Together we served a mission for God, yes, even THAT God, where we witnessed many miracles take place.  Together we sent and supported four of our children into the mission field.  Together we somehow merged our lives, our businesses, and our families.  Great experiences.  Great accomplishments.  And that is only the tip of the ice berg of the list of great things we have done together.

So why not?  Why not let defeating this cancer TOGETHER be the hugest accomplishment of all?  After all, by law, it is half her cancer.  No more biting her butt. Or anyone else's that gets too close when I have a moment.  Happiness.  Togetherness.  One day at a time..................

Hi there.  My name is Hanna.  And I approve of this message!  😍😍😍