I'm still here

On Coping #5

I lie awake in bed one night as she sleeps soundly at my side.

.

This must be about eleven months ago now.

After the first chemo.

And the second.

And the third.

.

After the radiotherapy.

After the surgery.

.

But before the tablets.

Before “it’s not working”.

Before Mexico.

Before today.

.

I lie awake.

And I am consumed with rage.

.

Not at God.

Not at the universe.

Not at science.

Not at fate.

But at her.

The woman I love.

.

The months and months and months of fear and poisoning and burning and cutting and fasting and sickness and hope and worry and fear and effort and bravery and good news and bad news and bad news and waiting and mundanity and hope and scans and resting and sleeping and waiting and disbelief and blood and researching and desperation and needles and fear and good news and powerlessness and scars and dread and blood and horror and yes joy sometimes and gratitude and tests and hope and acceptance and scans and fear and hope and waiting and refusal and optimism and bad news and nightmares and and and and tears and and silent screams and hope and fury have changed her.

I wake her up.

What is it?

she asks.

What’s wrong?

.

You’re disappearing

I say.

And I can’t bear it.

.

She inhales.

I exhale.

.

She rolls over.

She looks at me.

.

She takes my face in her hands.

.

I’m still here

she says, gently.

.

I’m still here.

Previous > On Coping #4: Ignorance is bliss | Next > On Coping #6: Takes a village

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On Coping is my story of surviving on the sidelines of cancer. It begins in 2022 with On Coping #1, written the day after my 41st birthday. The day my wife Imogen, the mother of my three children, was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer.  It’s the story of what happened next. Read from the start.

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