I originally wrote a variation of this blog Wednesday and then had Mark read it before posting. The conversation went down something like this:
Me: Is the blog ok?
Mark: It’s… about ME.
Me: Yeah. Are you alright with it?
Mark: I guess so… it’s just that… well, the blog is well-written and all, but it wasn’t your best.
Me: Maybe I was trying too hard for symbolism.
Mark: No, that’s not it. It’s that… it wasn’t funny.
Me: You think I should make the fact that you have cancer funny?
Mark: It would be more interesting to read.
Me: Um… ok…
So here’s the deal: Mark went in for what we thought was a routine biopsy, and right before they wheeled him back for surgery the doctor happened to casually mention the C word (and I’m not talking about name calling Game of Thrones style). Not only did the surgeon remove a whole section of cells rather than perform a simple punch biopsy, he also told my in-laws and me in the waiting room that he was pretty sure the tumor was, in fact, cancerous.
Waiting for test results rates right up there with shoving your fingers into a meat grinder so we had a lovely couple of emotionally draining weeks. The waiting game finally came to an end two days ago when Dr. Woo, Mark’s new oncologist, confirmed all of the cancer had not been removed and radiation therapy would be begin mid-February, five days a week for six weeks.
WHAT IS FUNNY ABOUT ALL OF THAT, MARK!?
A few years ago I started the process of going through menopause. It was a real dream come true because the hot flashes and ragey mood swings filled whatever room I was in with joy and sunshine and merry laughter. I also started packing on poundage because more fabulous news about menopause is that your metabolism slows even more and just about NOTHING removes old weight, current weight or new weight. Not walking five miles a day, not going on the healthy smoothie diet, not trying the keto diet… nothing, ZILCH. But you know what DOES f’ing work? The Hey-Your-Husband-Has-Cancer Diet. That one has worked wonders on me! The worry and the stress and the all-consuming desire to keep a happy, strong face forward for my spouse has eaten away at my insides and made food less than desirable. YAY!
Mark thought my new diet title was funny. So that’s good.
What he didn’t find funny was my becoming overly attached to a puppy that I was supposed to ONLY be fostering. God’s honest truth, I tried not to bond to Jovie in the beginning, but the longer she’s been with us the less I can see life without her by my side.
In the meantime, Mark’s prognosis is excellent. Dr. Woo is certain Mark will be cancer-free after the radiation treatments. His type of cancer is not genetic- GOOD- and does not spread easily- GOOD.
The only thing incurable in Mark’s life at this point is his wife’s weakness when it comes to anything with four legs and fur (or two legs, a furry chest and a last name that rhymes with Elleck).
If you feel guided to put in a good word with The Big Man Upstairs we’d appreciate your prayers. And if you’re interested in investing in my inspiring new weight loss program that’s sure to sweep the country and have middle-aged women everywhere ditching pounds like an illiterate kid ditches school then make your checks out to: My Husband Has Cancer Diet Plan, LLC.