The Breast Cancer Husband
When my wife was diagnosed with breast cancer, I began a journey of my own.
by Marc Silver
iI didn’t want to be a breast cancer husband. I mean, really, who would? Guys don’t sit around thinking, “I sure hope I get to show my wife what a good caregiver I can be!” Then again, it’s not as if I had a choice.
On a Friday morning in August 2001, my wife went to our HMO for a callback mammogram. No big deal—she’d had lots of callbacks before. Nothing was ever amiss. Only this time, as she buttoned up her blouse after the procedure, a blunt radiologist came up to her and said, “Sure looks like cancer to me.”
Marsha called me to share this shocking news. I said, “Oh, that doesn’t sound good.” And instead of rushing home to be by her side, I told her, “Well, see you tonight.” I was in the first stage of breast cancer husbandry: denial.
Can you blame me? Well okay, yes, you can. My wife did, and rightly so. In retrospect, I see how selfish and insensitive I was. All I can say in my defense is that I didn’t want to admit this could be happening to us. Plus, it wasn’t a good time for cancer to come knocking—school was about to start for my wife the teacher and our kids the students. We were planning a bat mitzvah for our younger daughter. There had to be some mistake!
Only there wasn’t. And so I did what a husband does. I went to doctor’s appointments with my wife. I held her hand when we got the worst news: There’s a tumor in each breast; chemotherapy is indicated. I kept a list of questions she wanted to ask her doctors. I took notes in the doctor’s office, since a cancer diagnosis triggers a kind of selective amnesia. And even though I was petrified about what the future would hold, I assured her we would get through it all right.
All those little things added up to a lot. They drew us closer together at a time when cancer could have driven us apart.
Coming Out the Other Side
As I watched Marsha fight cancer, I was absolutely in awe. She was far braver than I could have ever been. I’m sure I would have bawled like a baby at the thought of chemotherapy; she was a true stoic. And she kept her sense of humor, too. I persuaded her to try on a bunch of wild wigs after chemo claimed her hair. She laughed as hard as I did about her 15 minutes as Dolly Parton.
Meanwhile, at other times, I coped by being a bit selfish. I biked. I jogged. I watched Seinfeld reruns. It was my way of clinging to denial. For half an hour or so, I wasn’t thinking about cancer. Life seemed nearly normal.
I hate when people say cancer is a gift that teaches them what’s important in life. If it’s a gift, I’m taking it back to the store. It shattered our sense of well-being, and it left a legacy of worry. It put a dent in my wife’s breasts and, during the months of treatment, in our sex life as well.
Yet, even though I am clearly a master of denial, I can’t deny that cancer changed our lives in positive ways. The stuff of life that we enjoy—a meandering walk through our neighborhood to check out the latest McMansions, snuggling up to watch a DVD (and inevitably falling asleep before it’s over)—seems just a bit more precious and wonderful. Boy, that sounds corny. But it’s absolutely true.
This article is reprinted with permission from Your Health Now magazine,
a new health magazine from Merck & Co., Inc., enhanced by information
and insights from The Merck Manuals. To learn more about high blood pressure
and other health topics, visit www.YourHealthNow.com.