Sometimes...

Sometimes, it gets to me. Usually when I’m alone, walking around the pond on the ranch. I reflect on what I’ve worked hard at building for us. And I begin to realize that there may not be an us.

I made sure that she was taken care of if I passed on. Plenty of insurance to pay off everything 3 times over. Monthly survivor benefits that would keep her comfortable.

But what happens if I lose her? Am I building for a future that won’t be here? I’ve worked hard for us. But I’m struck with the notion that I may be wasting my time. And that’s harsh. Harsh for me to think, or accept. So I look for answers.

With the internet at your fingertips, anyone can become an expert on any subject. So it is when you’re faced with a medical issue or disease. You begin to research everything about it. All the treatments, the drugs, the surgeries. You pick up a new vocabulary. Time to Reoccurrence (TTR). You read about the trials, the tests, successes. What you don’t read are the failures. But they are there. You begin to see them, written between the lines. You understand that being cured of cancer is a metric based on how long it takes for it to come back.

You read forums. You read about other’s struggle. You find comfort in seeing that they are being treated with the same procedures and drugs your wife is. And then you see that they were posting this in 2010, but there are no posts for 2015. And you wonder why.

You hang on every word the doctors say. You look for that gleam of hope. You go home and franticly search the internet for more information about this new drug she’s being switched to. You start all over with it. Reading the trials. And understanding exactly what it means when it says TTR is 4 years. 4 years? Then what? What do we do in 4 years?

I sit down on the dock and gaze out over the pond. The bass are feeding on the bugs on the surface. Striking with a small splash that sends ripples across the smooth surface. A top-water jitter bug would tear them up right now. I think back to the spring of this year. Many times I would come home in the late afternoon to find her out here fishing. Arguing with the dogs over space on the narrow dock. She loves to fish. Just simple fishing, with a bobber and a worm. No lures, or rubber worms for her. She’s happy to go after the pan fish. Or a catfish. She gets excited when she catches a wayward bass that was hungry enough for a worm. And she tells me about Brutus, the biggest bass we have in the pond. He taunts us. He laughs at us. She hooked him once. Got him right up to the dock. A mouth so big her whole fist could fit inside it. She said he smiled at her as she reached down for him. And with a sudden explosive twist and a splash, he was gone. Maybe next time babe.

I get up, and wipe the tears from my eyes.