When my husband received the diagnosis of stage 4 lung adenocarcinoma, our worlds fell apart. Six months and three weeks later, it took his life.
At his oncologist’s suggestion, he tried chemotherapy and immunotherapy. The oncologist advised us that his cancer was incurable but perhaps the treatments might shrink the tumor to give him some relief, and maybe give him extra time. She said the median survival time was eighteen months.
He always had hope of beating the cancer to at least have longer to live. He said he would be a “five yearer” – making it to five years. He never felt better, and needed both morphine and oxycodone throughout each day. I had a front row seat, right next to him on this journey, and saw what the cancer, the pain, his fear, and the pain medicine did to him.
Hope was within me, but so was reality. I watched his 182-pound body go to 129.5 pounds. Our daily hugs were now soft hugs, if we were able to hug at all due to his body becoming more and more fragile.
There came a time when I realized I didn’t know if I was talking to my husband or to his cancer or to his pain medications, and I tried to pay attention.
My husband and I took care of each other when we were ill; otherwise, we primarily did for ourselves. During his cancer, caregiver was added to my role as his wife.
He was able to take care of his personal care needs up until his last three days of life. During that time, I managed doctor visits, therapy visits, medications, took him to emergency room visits, and took care of many of the things around the house. There came a time I had to find a way to ensure he wasn’t taking too much pain medication.
Sometimes I became the “bad” guy, having to remind him to eat, having to say no to some things, being fussy at times, and at times not disagreeing with him when he didn’t seem to be rational.
A week before he passed away, as he was going under in-home hospice care, we were told of a man going on a seven-day vacation before he would go into hospice. Always wanting to travel, he told me he wanted us to have fun, go on a seven day vacation and that he would cut back on his pain medications in order to help drive. My heart sank. I understood his desire, however I knew it wasn’t going to happen, even though we didn’t know how much time he had left. I humored him, said okay, and said I would look for somewhere close for us to go.
Sometimes others offered support, and sometimes advice. Both were always welcomed, however sometimes advice was not always shared with me by those giving the advice – this created issues. Due to my husband’s state of mind and what he was going through, he at times did not think clearly or rationally. I believe in the importance of including the spouse with any advice or suggestions to avoid possible misunderstandings that may ultimately be misguided or cause harm for the person living through cancer or any other serious illness.
There was no one who wanted him to live more than I did, and I would have encouraged my husband to pursue whatever was reasonable.
I do not share these things to boost or pat myself on the back for anything I did; I loved my husband and would do what was needed. I say these things because I shared his journey with him every day, saw his decline, and with each day knew I was losing my husband. His cancer affected both him and me; we both were filled with different emotions with each of our emotions being different than the other.
I shared these things to say that likely in most cases, as it was in our case, the spouse or caregiver often has an important understanding of what is going on, even when the person with cancer may not understand or fully understand what is going on.
My hope is that spouses and caregivers are included in any advice or suggestions given to the person who is ill, because they are often experiencing the impact of the illness alongside them.
