Believe it or not, I am keeping this story as condensed as possible. I’m skipping over episodes and details, just keeping the broad strokes. To summarize, the initial diagnosis was in October of 2014. First round of chemotherapy started in January 2015; seven rounds of a five week cycle, followed by fourteen months of remission. By spring of 2017, the cancer had reasserted itself. Treatment resumed. 

The kicker was that now we’d had the experience of the cancer returning. That insidious son-of-a-bitch multiple myeloma likes to revisit. The play on your mind becomes all about how long? There’s always that little worry, when is the other shoe going to drop?

Our trusted, senior, very experienced oncologist retired at this time. Our new oncologist was young, very high energy. I’m sure he was older, but he looked not yet thirty. In the first meeting, he spoke quickly, perhaps he was nervous too. He outlined treatment options, medication outcomes, new research studies… Out of the corner of my eye, I could tell my husband was not taking in a word he was saying. 

Our second meeting with this new Doctor was much better. His recommendation for a new treatment involved a ‘drip’. In cancer speak that means getting in the chair for two or three hours, sometimes longer and receiving chemo intravenously. Once a week.

James balked. No. 

He did not balk because it was chemotherapy. His previous experience with chemo had been fairly positive. It had been a shot in the arm, five minutes in the chair, chat with the nurse, and he was out the door.

No, a ‘drip’ would mean a whole day devoured at the clinic. The parking, the registration, the blood work, the waiting. Always the waiting. And then, an hours long drip? No.

This new oncologist rose to the occasion. He pulled his chair right up in front of James and said, “Tell me. Why not?”

And true to form — James was a man who could always tell you how he was feeling. No hemming and hawing. Through a few tears, he said he felt his life, the things he loved the most were slipping away. Mind, he’d just had surgery to repair a hairline fracture to his hip, but he counted off his current restrictions; no gardening, no motorcycle, no running. The cancer, he felt, was chipping away at his enjoyment of life. It was winning.

Our new oncologist listened. He did not interrupt. He did not say, “Yes, but.” He let James finish. And then he said, “Well, maybe that’s not the treatment plan for you. … I have another.”

And all our misgivings about the ‘new guy’ gave way to respect and trust.

James started a chemotherapy program in pill form he could take at home. That he could handle. The challenge was now we knew. Treatments were effective for a period of time only. It is one thing to understand that cognitively. It’s another to experience it.

We were not a perfect couple. Like every other couple on the planet we had our issues — and — like every other couple on the planet, we had our strengths. One of our strengths was the ability to support each other. 

Being supportive for a loved one with cancer is a challenge. More on that next week.

Stay safe everyone.

Anne Milne is an every Sunday blogger.  Temporarily, this blog will be focussed on telling our cancer story. Please share if you know someone who may benefit. Facebook or Twitter.