Elephant

Fourteen days ago my wife was diagnosed with cancer.
And that's officially the toughest sentence I've ever written.
She has an illness called Hodgkin's Disease. Which, as far as I'm concerned, sounds pretty poop-your-pants scary, but it's actually a fairly favorable diagnosis. There's a 93-98% cure rate and it rarely relapses from remission. If it's caught early (which is was), is asymptomatic (which it is) and is found in a female patients, those percentages only increase.
Still, it's cancer. And with it, comes all the unpleasantries associated with the treatment. The chemo, the hair loss, the fatigue, the nausea. Some of these are mitigated with other medicines, but every individual responds differently.
So even though we're all optimistic about a full recovery, I needed to take some time before posting about this. If anything, out of respect for my wife and our family and friends who needed some privacy and time to digest this. But a couple days ago she gave me the go-ahead because she knew that it would be cathartic for me to write about it. Still, somehow a post about cancer felt out of place between musings about Oreos and Baked Cheetos (both of which are drafted and will be forthcoming, BTW).
So no, faithful readers, the Tortfeezor will not become a weepy cancer blog. Yes, sometimes life throws you a sucker punch. You're down for the count and you have to pick yourself up off the mat and get back into the ring. You confront this with a bit of faith and a horribly cliched boxing analogy.
I think a lot of times with news like this comes hand-wringing and worry. As moody and irritable as I can be, I'm not much of a 'woe is me' person. I've lapsed a bit into that mode a couple times in the past two weeks, but I've come to a comforting conclusion: This may be the best thing to ever happen to us.
Think about it, we've been given the opportunity to totally reassess our values, our relationship and our faith. We've talked a lot about it a lot and decided that we're going to face this head-on, full-bore with hope and optimism. It's a call to action, a challenge. I'm a full supporter of the mind-over-matter mentality. How can you possibly endure six months of chemotherapy with a scowl on your face and a 'Why me?' attitude?
My wife opted early on that she would smile her way through this process. We've been able to put our priorities in perspective and come to the realization that we couldn't be more blessed to be where and who we are today. Our friends and families happen to be fantastically supportive and this is an opportunity to grow closer to them. This is merely a speed bump.
When people are in a conversation with a cancer patient or their families, I think there's a tendency to treat it as the elephant in the room. They talk about everything but. We've already experienced this to a degree. And it's not like we're downplaying the seriousness of the ailment or treating it lightly. But if you let it get you down and depressed, what's the point of the fight in the first place? We like to look at it as when-good-people-happen-to-bad-things. Not the other way around.
So we'll save the pity party for another time. Life's too short to spend it feeling sorry for yourself. Because in the end, we'll be okay. We'll be better than okay.
We'll be better than ever.