Note: This is in no way intended to trivialize Cancer and the devastation it wreaks on individuals and families. It is meant to relay a real life event and issues that surround chronic, incurable, illnesses.
Shawn is pretty much my hero. Beyond being an amazing husband and friend, the way he deals with his M.S. is inspiring. After twenty years and a secondary progressive diagnosis, he takes zero medications to dull the pain, provide energy, or help him sleep. The result is that he deals with non-stop pain, has to push through crushing fatigue, and most nights is lucky to get an hour or two of sleep. Most people would never do this, but the alternative would leave him a medicated zombie and he doesn’t want to live that way. He tried it when he was first diagnosed and hated it.
So every day I watch him do all the things, knowing that the very act of wearing clothes, hell, even moving, is causing him pain. Rarely does he ever complain, choosing to go run errands and suffer away from my watchful gaze on particularly bad days.
A few months ago his prostititus started flaring up. After a round of cipro and some other drugs that provided no relief, he went to the Urologist. We were both hopeful that something would be discovered at that visit, because he was in so much pain. Underwear hurt, urination hurt, vibration from vehicles hurt, sex hurt. Basically a new level of pain, centrally located in his crotch, affecting all crotch associated activities.
I sat out in the truck during his appointment, working away, when he came out shaking his head. There was nothing wrong with his prostate or any crotch associated disorders. It was the M.S., and there was nothing to be done. He had the same options as always, take pain reducing drugs or learn to deal with it.
“Is it weird when you are disappointed that it isn’t Cancer?”
That what the question Shawn asked when he returned to the truck. We had discussed the possibility prior, and while we hoped it was something different, even Cancer meant that it wasn’t the M.S.
Cancer would mean there was a known cause. Cancer would mean there was a possible treatment plan. Cancer would mean there could be an end to this pain at some point. Cancer would have at least answered questions and possibly had a resolution.
M.S. didn’t.
M.S. meant that Shawn would have to take on a new level of suffering for the rest of his life. He would have to fight the mental battle of appearing Okay to everyone else while silently wanting to punch his crotch to the point of numbness. He would have to come to terms with enjoyment being impacted. He would have to face one more slap from the universe and still find the strength to not let it harden his heart and darken his soul.
So, no, he doesn’t have Cancer, and I know that is a good thing. My heart aches for him all the same, and swells bigger with pride as every day he adapts a little more to this new normal, and I am inspired to be just as dignified in my own actions.
Did I mention he is my hero?