Pre-cancer my little family was in the midst of a completely different type of health crisis. We were on a long and uphill road. You see, a little over a year ago, my husband found that life - kids, work, marriage was getting too hard. And, he started to head off the rails a little bit. Then more than a little bit. Then little things became huge things and worry became his whole, entire life.
We learned a valuable lesson about the little pink pills that Doctors prescribe for folks who start to struggle. For 95% of folks, those little pink or blue pills help, take the edge off, reset some of that muddled brain chemistry. And, then there is the 5%. And, who knows if you are in the majority until you start to pop those little pills. And, if you aren't - well, it's really hard for friends, family and physicians to know if it's the pills fault, or if you need a stronger pill.
We ended up losing about a year to this process. And, as I watched my husband completely and totally lose his way, and become someone I didn't like and didn't want to even know, I also saw into the hearts of those who were around us. Sometimes egotistical, partially educated and grossly overconfident people can be extraordinarily dangerous. When you feel like you are drowning, you will grab onto the nearest hunk of floating debris. And, cling to it, especially if the promise is health, happiness, or, the possibility of "self-actualization".
Lucky for us, we had people who stood, like the old growth trees in B.C., just stood there and said the same thing hundreds and thousands of times. Finally, with an old, brusque Doctor's help, we started to break free from the tangled and stinking forest we were in, and the further he got away from the toxically opinionated, those who pushed him towards a path that fit their world view and their stunted understanding of human nature, psychology, and love, the better he felt.
But we were just on the path out, he was still not my guy. He wasn't the person I married. He wasn't my solid landing place as I was the rest of my family's "rock", the guy who was the 'super dad' of our neighbourhood, this kindest of men.
Then I got sick. And, he seems to have woken up. Is it guilt? Is it a sense that he has no choice? Have the stars simply aligned at the right time? I truly don't know, but can say that having him back is a godsend.
I can't trust that he'll stay as he is. And, the memory of all that has happened rests very close to the surface, dangerously close more often then not. People say - he was sick, or "they" were just trying to help - but words and actions carry with them real costs and real consequences. No matter what the slogans say.
But at least he seems to be himself, for now. And, so it seems that the best cure for anxiety turned out to be a good healthy dose of cancer. It's probably not a recommended treatment - but hey, it seems to work!
