That being said, I can sure as hell get angry at the cancer in his head and the effects of trying to kill the cancer and not my Wash.
He had a BAD day on Friday. They are the kind of days that the oncologists and nurses and friends who have gone through it before can warn about, but never really prepare you for. (Thanks Jo & Rose!)
He was just not Wash on Friday.
He was angry. He was forced to confront some issues in his therapy and they came out on me. He can't exactly take his own brain out and yell at it, so I take the brunt. That part sucks. I don't even know really how to describe these days to his friends and family- the close ones that need to know the details. Remember that Wash can pull off "normal" with a hat for a few minutes to most people, but thankfully he has found some comfort with a few friends just being himself.
He was speaking in the same voice, and it was the same body. I can really only describe it as close to how he was acting when the tumor was in his brain- his voice, his body, but not his words or his mind.
MY husband would never say such frakking evil things to me.
Cancer? It has no reservations about saying the most hideous thing and with the sharpest of points. Case in point- I'm trying to help Wash, trying to explain that Friday I was not the enemy but he might need more help than I could give. I have to think it was the cancer or some damage that caused him to say such nasty things to me.
I watched a film last night that was a small companion documentary to a book I read a few months ago on forgiveness and grace. Even knowing that it is not always my husband's WILL that causes him to do something horrid - that still needs some communication of forgiveness to pass between us. We're not just roommates. We're not just best friends. I'm not just a 24/7 nurse- that is my husband slowly being eaten away by cancer in the other room, our relationship greatly impacts his length and quality of life.
We don't go to bed angry. For me the chance of him not waking up tomorrow is always so great I never want to risk sleeping away out of anger again. It really only wastes time we don't have.
What this means though, in reality, is that I have to be willing to forgive ANYTHING by bedtime.
This way of thinking, which is a far cry and change from my own youth, proves challenging to me sometimes. I find myself forgiving Wash with more ease, but feeling more anger at others who I see as wasting my time or energy. It's not really mine, for right now Wash is borrowing it all until he passes. I see things as my time can be wasted, but not his.
It all has to end with letting it go, though.
Friday was a monster named brain cancer living in my husband's skin.
Saturday he seemed to come back. That's the terrible nature of this. I can always always always hope that he will be back to "Wash". Cancer says I really never know who he will be when he wakes.
Every new day I am thankful that he is still with me. 3% make it 18 months. He's at 23 months now. He's a person, now defined by a statistic.
My goal, my challenge, is to make sure that every day he is alive here, now, is better in quality for him than death. Some days I think I fail. Some he falls asleep happy and telling me he loves me.
He's the other half of me. He's my heart. He's the person I would take cancer for. He's the man I'd wait 2000 years for, locked in a box.
How can I stay angry at the person I'd fight hardest for?
Sometimes.... I wish it was not real. A great story, a great myth. I could conquer mountains, Hell, and gods for him. I would have that River Tam shot, saving him, and in the end, a medical CURE would be found.
I remember it's all real instead. There is no magic cure. Fighting won't really save his life. I can't bring him back once he's gone.
There is no "set" ending. There is no happy news or 11th hour reprieve. Real life is so far away from fiction, the little minutiae of living each moment. Real life means now knowing that the "happy ending" only happens in fiction.
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