It’s almost February. So if you are like me and I believe around 80% of the good souls who declared a resolution or made new and improved promises, you might also be eager to move past January. While my go-to weight loss challenge has resounded over decades, it’s more than that for me. If January had an un-friend button, I would have long ago not hesitated to click it. Though I try not to let it triumph, it somehow wins. Many of my negative “anniversary” reminders fall right into its lap. That and the overriding sunless days followed by seasonal depression for many, including me, solidifies my battle.
Anniversary, a day or date linked to a specific event. Many of us relate the word anniversary to something positive or special. But if you have had decades of trips around the sun, you most likely have other anniversaries. One of my least favorite ones visited me this past week. A year minus three days marked a turning point in our journey while sitting at K.U. Medical Center this past Tuesday. While my husband was getting another biopsy, I realized we were days away from a year to the dreaded January anniversary that was merely the first drop of rain in a year’s worth of storms.
On January 28, 2021, we arrived at the E.R. Little did we know it would be eleven days before we saw home again. He was experiencing low oxygen levels, extreme weight loss, and trouble eating and drinking. At the time, we believed all post-radiation damage from a few months prior. Those eleven days changed our lives. Darran came home with a tracheostomy tube for breathing and a feeding tube to eat through. I came home as an inexperienced, trained in a few days, petrified but critical nurse. This caregiving role has been the most challenging role I have ever had to date.
What a sense of humor our God has. Me, a nurse? I lay down to have blood taken, and when I was young, the mere smell of a hospital made me feel faint. I’m surprised I could handle childbirth, not once but twice. I’m not a fan of blood or pain. To say I have a weak stomach would be a gross understatement. But it is not within my own power that I have met these demands.
In March, Darran was well enough to have the trach and feeding tube removed. But then both had to be replaced in June. When cancer found its way to his larynx, again a few months later, a permanent laryngectomy, also known as a voicebox removal, was vital. Then rarely one to make an appearance and then go away, most recently, cancer found some unsuspecting lymph nodes. Currently, he has immunotherapy treatments every six weeks.
Tuesday was biopsy day to check on the success of the immunotherapy and look closer at recent scans. We were excited that the 11 o’clock appointment meant less traffic for our two-hour away trip. We also got to leave the house at 9 a.m., crazy the small things you start to recognize. We turned right into P3 parking for the main campus. How familiar now. A year back, two small-town people not fond of city life could have just as well been in New York. Everything was daunting. The street names, buildings, hallways, and different hospital sections are second nature now. Cambridge, E.R., the main hospital, ENT, second/third/fifth floors, the Pavilion, Interventional Radiology, and the Cancer Center all have become part of vocabulary we rather not have personal knowledge.
As soon as the hospital buildings were within our view, Darran verbalized aloud what we both have felt every time, with today being no exception—nerves, fear, upset stomachs. Not often openly declared by either one of us, but like a thick fog in our minds, the number of trips has failed to make it any easier to stomach. Something only we can share in the knowledge and pain.
Once his nurse whisked him away, curiosity got the better of me. I logged into MYChart (this is really his chart), and I started tallying from the past year. I found 26 trips (though that also means 3 to 4 appointments per trip, within each of those 26 days), 11 telephone appointments, eight minor or major procedures, and three stays at the hospital, equalling 26 days and nights. This total does not include emails, tele-visits, or the many questions from yours truly. I am confident that I am red-flagged in his chart, but that is little concern.
After counting, I see it on paper for the first time like this; wow! I’ve known all along what a warrior I am married to, and again am reminded of his resilience. I’ve not missed one day and been there for each overnight. So by all rights, I’m known as the wife of a warrior. Both are an honor and an undesired responsibility for us both.
Traveling to and fro, we’ve seen seasons come and go.
We’ve driven through snow and ice, rain, sunrises, and sunsets. We’ve experienced tears, laughter, fights, horrendous traffic, prayers, silence, hope, and fear. We’ve missed exits and still made it on time. We have a designated spot to turn on the GPS and have been amazed at its power to re-route us. I am so appreciative of that inventor. Really! I mean this.
What a year we have had. These trips have also included faith, hope, love, and support for one another. What a relentless team!
But I still lament the frigid January anniversary date of it all. January is not my friend.
So I want to start my HAPPY New Year in February and celebrate these anniversaries: the shortest month moving into Spring, the beautiful red and pink colors, the love month, the month of roses and Reese’s hearts (I mean come on), the Superbowl month, the month our first child was born, the month of future hope, and the month we have and continue to celebrate so many happy anniversaries and events.
The calendar is obviously not going to accommodate my wishes but, I still wish you a
Happy New Year in February!
Hoping you find a place in my space. ♥
Reflection Question:
Do you have a month of a dreaded anniversary?
(HUGS. I am so sorry. You are not alone.)