This past year started out with the kind of news and phone calls we all hope will never come.
When you hear that your husband has been diagnosed with stage 4 cancer, you never really know how you’re going to react. For me, because I’ve lived through it once before when my late husband was diagnosed with stage 4 colon cancer, I immediately sprang into action. I made arrangements for doctor visits and flights to far-away cancer centers, seeking second and third opinions, and focused on finding the very best care for John’s cancer.
At our most recent appointment, we heard the news we’d been hoping for. John had responded remarkably well to the treatment. His doctors smiled and gave us strict instructions, “Enjoy your summer!” He would continue with monthly immunotherapy and oral chemotherapy, but for the first time in months, we felt we could exhale.
So, we did exactly that. We took our first trip in seven months to our happy place in the mountains of Colorado.
We returned home and John restarted his immunotherapy. Three days later, he went out for a bike ride.
He has no memory of what happened next.
I got a call from the Mequon Police Department telling me that John had been in a serious bike accident. In an instant, everything changed again. He suffered a concussion, brain bleed, multiple facial fractures, a broken nose, stitches above his eye, and countless abrasions and road rash. I spent the next 36 hours with him in the ER and then the Neuro ICU. Thankfully, we’re home now, and he’s recovering slowly but steadily.
It’s amazing how quickly life can shift.
Ever since John retired and was diagnosed with cancer just two weeks later, I’ve been trying to figure out how to care for the person I love most while still living a full life myself. I’ve wrestled with feeling like I’m missing out on things and then feeling guilty for even having those thoughts.
So, as I look ahead to the new year, 5787, I’m choosing to keep living with intention.
Time is precious, and we never get it back. I’m trying to be fully present, whether I’m making dinner, answering emails, watching the sunrise over Lake Michigan, or taking a walk with a friend. The extraordinary moments matter, but so do the ordinary ones. If I can truly be in the moment, whatever that moment is, I think that’s what it means to live a full life.
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