Everything I know about how to be supportive I learned from James. He had a knack for it. Friends, even my girlfriends, would call and want to talk to James when they were hurting. In those situations, the phone rang for him, not me. Truth.

In the summer of 2019, my supportive skills were put to the test. The cancer had once again progressed through his treatment. 

What was happening was odd. Watching him walk, it looked like he did not have complete control over his right leg. It seemed as if he just couldn’t lift his foot properly. 

As James’ stumbling progressed to needing crutches, everyone was baffled. Tests and x-rays were ordered. James felt fine, his blood numbers were good. What fresh hell was this? 

Before the tests could confirm or deny anything, on a Sunday morning at 2:00 a.m. we made our second ever 911 call. He could not feel or move his legs. In emergency they were puzzled. Was this an orthotic problem, or a cancer problem? 

It was a cancer problem. A sneaky little multiple myeloma tumour was putting pressure on his spinal cord. Once the doctors identified what was happening, it became a medical emergency. James had been admitted early Sunday morning. This was now early Tuesday evening. 

The radiation room, which had been shut down for the day was re-opened. Staff were called back into work. I was called to come in, not because it was a life-threatening situation, but because James was understandably stressed when told this was a potentially paralyzing situation.

Supportive skills, don’t fail me now.

What can you say other than to hope the radiation will shrink the tumour and things will return to normal? You will run again… we hope.

I will skip ahead here to say he never ran again. His early morning crack-of-dawn runs were over. So were the motorcycle rides. I can say this because I know how the story ends, but at the time, the situation demanded optimism and hope. Repeat as necessary.

James was three months in the hospital and one month in our city’s rehabilitation facility to learn to walk again. He went from standing between the parallel bars, to taking six steps, to walking with a walker. Bit by bit, one foot in front of the other.

And in the meantime, treatment continued. By this point, he had submitted without complaint to treatments that included hours long drips into the arm. 

As a couple, we did an outstanding job of working together to get through this and to make the best of a life-changing situation. Our mantra became “F*#k Cancer”; we used humour, music, comfort food, skulls, (it’s a bike thing) and whatever else we felt we needed. 

Supports for the both of us came from friends, family, neighbours. People are great. It’s the relationships in your life that bring the most joy even in times of sadness. 

Next week we’ll talk about how our story ended.

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.