There is no wishing cancer away. Some cancers can be cured and treated medically. For other cancers, everyone knows the ending. Knowing that, what choices can you make to keep your life and your relationships as positive as possible? How do you keep the joy in your life?

In our case, as the years went by and the treatments and consequences intensified, the challenge to remain positive was sometimes a struggle. Especially when he was in the hospital and staff were suggesting he may be in a wheelchair the rest of his life.

For such an active person who loved his early morning runs, losing mobility was not an easy thing to accept. As he catalogued what cancer was robbing him of, a social worker suggested he ‘turn the page’. To his credit, he did.

He kept his eye on improvements. As I said in the last post, he worked to regain as much mobility as possible. He was determined he would be riding his motorcycle and mowing the lawn come summer.

In early March on a beautiful, surprising gift of a mild day he was out and about on our cul-de-sac without the walker — astounding myself and the neighbours who bore witness. 

That day proved to be the peak of his recovery. 

We’d had six years to process what we knew would eventually happen. Lots of people would consider that a luxury. 

It is difficult to talk about death, especially when the discussions are no longer just philosophical. We had talked about funeral arrangements and outlined in general terms what he would like. We had discussed end of life choices too. However, the devil is in the details. As the surviving spouse I would have liked more details. 

My encouragement for anyone in this situation is to have those discussions. Have it once, go into the dark corners, and make all wishes clear. Maybe even make notes.

After that spring day walk about, his energy started to seriously decline. 

He needed more and more of my help. His mind-set had been so determined, but there were days and nights when he admitted “I’m losing ground.” Very difficult for me to offer support in those moments because I could see he was speaking the truth.

Words like ‘challenging’ and ‘difficult’ don’t do justice to his final weeks. It was my time to turn around and accept all the support the medical staff, friends, family and neighbours had to offer.  

In spite of Covid restrictions he had a lovely send-off in the same funeral home where his parents had been in the small town where he grew up.

He had used his classic stubbornness to fuel his fight. He referred to his chemo as the warrior going in to get the ‘son-of-a-bitch’. Bottom line, he thought it was ironic that when he died, the cancer would die too. I hope that thought makes you smile as he would have intended.

Next week we’ll talk about something else.

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.