Well I hate to start off with a depressing subject but one of the things that consumes my life is health care. Over four years ago my wife was diagnosed with breast cancer and two weeks ago she had her 15th, yes that is 15th, surgery associated with her cancer. Her prognosis is good but the process has taken its toll on the whole family. A couple of years ago I wrote a.... hmm, I'm not sure what to call it, we'll just say a "piece" that dealt with my frustration. It was cathartic and I'm a little disappointed to say still relevant in our lives. Read on and try to enjoy some of the dark humor that is intended to lighten the ....hmm, "piece."
Hi, my name is Bart and I have second-hand Cancer.
I’m angry.
And I’m tired.
I’m angry that Cancer has interrupted my plans. I’m angry that Cancer has made Marcia Depressed. And tired. And scared. And cranky. I’m angry that every time we think we’ve turned the corner, another long hallway is thrust in front of us. I’m angry that once the Cancer is treated, no one has any time or answers for all the “LITTLE” symptoms or side effects.
I’m angry because we can’t make plans for next week, or next month, or next year because we don’t know if we will be well enough to execute those plans. I’m angry because Cancer has made my kids afraid. Afraid for Marcia. Afraid for themselves.
I’m angry because sometimes I don’t have enough patience for my kids. I’m angry because my kids have to be quiet in their own home. I’m angry because we have to wait until noon or later each day to know if we will be well enough to make plans for the day. I’m angry because once we know we can make plans for the day there isn’t enough time to enjoy the plans. I’m angry because I have to make a choice between school and supporting Marcia
.
I’m tired of doing EVERYTHING.
I’m tired of being a father, and a mother, and a husband, and a wife, and a mother-in-law. I’m tired of being a student, a psychiatrist, a nurse, a pharmacist, a doctor, an advocate, a life coach, a friend. I’m tired of pretending everything is OK. I’m tired of answering the obligatory questions with answers that won’t give anyone else second-hand Cancer. I’m tired of still answering those questions four years later. I’m tired of not having any money left at the end of the month because an out-of-pocket maximum isn’t an out-of-pocket maximum. I’m tired of the stacks of medical bills that fill more boxes than my family photos.
I’m tired of having to use a magnifying glass to sift through medical bills from doctors I’ve never met of heard of to figure out whether or not the $500 bill for looking at a CT scan for 43 seconds is legitimate. I’m tired of insurance companies not paying bills they should, hoping we won’t notice, or have the time or energy to investigate whether or not they are responsible.
I’m tired of missing important phone calls because my voice mailbox gets filled up with messages from people looking for money they don’t deserve. I’m tired of getting unripe fruit. I’m tired of being strong.
I’m angry about and tired of feeling guilty for being angry and tired.
I’m tired of waking up at 6:15 A.M., taking the dog outside, feeding the dog, unloading the dishwasher, making everyone breakfast, telling my kids 3 times to keep eating or “we’ll be late,” telling my kids 3 times to clear their breakfast plates, keeping the dog from jumping on everyone and tearing their clothes, taking rolls of toilet paper away from my dog, picking up socks my dog has vomited up, cleaning up dog pee right when it is time to put a meal on the table, making snacks and lunch for everyone, checking my kids’ backpacks to make sure they have everything, making sure their clothes match, making sure their clothes fit,
making sure their clothes aren’t covered with animal hair, making sure they have brushed their teeth, convincing them that they actually do need a coat, walking them to school, trying to wake Marcia up so she can appear to be getting her work done and keep her job, getting her medication, making sure she takes her medication, filling and refilling her prescriptions, changing her bandages, emptying her drains, getting yelled at for telling her things are going to be OK, going to school, concentrating on school, giving a damn about school, picking up my kids from school,
going through their backpacks to organize their homework and fliers from the school that take more time to go through than my college homework, helping my kids with their homework, getting snacks, making dinner, taking the dog out to potty, cleaning up more pee because I didn’t take the dog out to potty soon enough,
putting dinner on the table, bringing dinner into the bedroom for Marcia, doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen, getting Marcia’s dinner plates, taking out the trash, making sure my kids take a shower, resolving fights over who’s turn it is to take a shower first,
making sure they brush their teeth, reading to my kids at bedtime, telling my kids not to come out of their rooms anymore and to get to sleep, taking the dog for a walk so she gets enough exercise and stops jumping on everyone and tearing their clothes, doing my homework, making sure I spend enough time with Marcia, justifying why I have to get homework done instead of laying in bed watching TV with Marcia, checking to make sure all the lights are off, the dishwasher has been turned on, the doors are locked, my kids lights are out, and the dog is in her crate. I’m tired of brushing my teeth.
I’m tired of mowing the lawn, taking out the trash, putting the trash bins away, cleaning the leaves out of the pool, cleaning the pool filters, pulling weeds, raking leaves, picking up the dog poop in the yard, making grocery lists, clipping coupons, going grocery shopping, at 2 stores so I don’t go over budget, putting the groceries away, finding out that I forgot to buy the paper towels, collecting all the dirty laundry, washing the clothes, getting the clothes out of the dryer before they wrinkle, re-drying them when I didn’t get them out before they wrinkled, folding the laundry, getting my kids to put their laundry away, putting Marcia’s and my laundry away,
getting dressed out of the dryer when I didn’t get to the folding and putting away part, doing the bills, going through the junk mail, finding everything for everyone.
I’m tired of being tired of things I normally don’t mind doing.
I’m tired of wanting to run far away sometimes.
I’m tired of reminding myself that other people have things worse than we do.
My name is Bart and I have second-hand Cancer.
Hi, my name is Bart and I have second-hand Cancer.
I’m angry.
And I’m tired.
I’m angry that Cancer has interrupted my plans. I’m angry that Cancer has made Marcia Depressed. And tired. And scared. And cranky. I’m angry that every time we think we’ve turned the corner, another long hallway is thrust in front of us. I’m angry that once the Cancer is treated, no one has any time or answers for all the “LITTLE” symptoms or side effects.
I’m angry because we can’t make plans for next week, or next month, or next year because we don’t know if we will be well enough to execute those plans. I’m angry because Cancer has made my kids afraid. Afraid for Marcia. Afraid for themselves.
I’m angry because sometimes I don’t have enough patience for my kids. I’m angry because my kids have to be quiet in their own home. I’m angry because we have to wait until noon or later each day to know if we will be well enough to make plans for the day. I’m angry because once we know we can make plans for the day there isn’t enough time to enjoy the plans. I’m angry because I have to make a choice between school and supporting Marcia
.
I’m tired of doing EVERYTHING.
I’m tired of being a father, and a mother, and a husband, and a wife, and a mother-in-law. I’m tired of being a student, a psychiatrist, a nurse, a pharmacist, a doctor, an advocate, a life coach, a friend. I’m tired of pretending everything is OK. I’m tired of answering the obligatory questions with answers that won’t give anyone else second-hand Cancer. I’m tired of still answering those questions four years later. I’m tired of not having any money left at the end of the month because an out-of-pocket maximum isn’t an out-of-pocket maximum. I’m tired of the stacks of medical bills that fill more boxes than my family photos.
I’m tired of having to use a magnifying glass to sift through medical bills from doctors I’ve never met of heard of to figure out whether or not the $500 bill for looking at a CT scan for 43 seconds is legitimate. I’m tired of insurance companies not paying bills they should, hoping we won’t notice, or have the time or energy to investigate whether or not they are responsible.
I’m tired of missing important phone calls because my voice mailbox gets filled up with messages from people looking for money they don’t deserve. I’m tired of getting unripe fruit. I’m tired of being strong.
I’m angry about and tired of feeling guilty for being angry and tired.
I’m tired of waking up at 6:15 A.M., taking the dog outside, feeding the dog, unloading the dishwasher, making everyone breakfast, telling my kids 3 times to keep eating or “we’ll be late,” telling my kids 3 times to clear their breakfast plates, keeping the dog from jumping on everyone and tearing their clothes, taking rolls of toilet paper away from my dog, picking up socks my dog has vomited up, cleaning up dog pee right when it is time to put a meal on the table, making snacks and lunch for everyone, checking my kids’ backpacks to make sure they have everything, making sure their clothes match, making sure their clothes fit,
making sure their clothes aren’t covered with animal hair, making sure they have brushed their teeth, convincing them that they actually do need a coat, walking them to school, trying to wake Marcia up so she can appear to be getting her work done and keep her job, getting her medication, making sure she takes her medication, filling and refilling her prescriptions, changing her bandages, emptying her drains, getting yelled at for telling her things are going to be OK, going to school, concentrating on school, giving a damn about school, picking up my kids from school,
going through their backpacks to organize their homework and fliers from the school that take more time to go through than my college homework, helping my kids with their homework, getting snacks, making dinner, taking the dog out to potty, cleaning up more pee because I didn’t take the dog out to potty soon enough,
putting dinner on the table, bringing dinner into the bedroom for Marcia, doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen, getting Marcia’s dinner plates, taking out the trash, making sure my kids take a shower, resolving fights over who’s turn it is to take a shower first,
making sure they brush their teeth, reading to my kids at bedtime, telling my kids not to come out of their rooms anymore and to get to sleep, taking the dog for a walk so she gets enough exercise and stops jumping on everyone and tearing their clothes, doing my homework, making sure I spend enough time with Marcia, justifying why I have to get homework done instead of laying in bed watching TV with Marcia, checking to make sure all the lights are off, the dishwasher has been turned on, the doors are locked, my kids lights are out, and the dog is in her crate. I’m tired of brushing my teeth.
I’m tired of mowing the lawn, taking out the trash, putting the trash bins away, cleaning the leaves out of the pool, cleaning the pool filters, pulling weeds, raking leaves, picking up the dog poop in the yard, making grocery lists, clipping coupons, going grocery shopping, at 2 stores so I don’t go over budget, putting the groceries away, finding out that I forgot to buy the paper towels, collecting all the dirty laundry, washing the clothes, getting the clothes out of the dryer before they wrinkle, re-drying them when I didn’t get them out before they wrinkled, folding the laundry, getting my kids to put their laundry away, putting Marcia’s and my laundry away,
getting dressed out of the dryer when I didn’t get to the folding and putting away part, doing the bills, going through the junk mail, finding everything for everyone.
I’m tired of being tired of things I normally don’t mind doing.
I’m tired of wanting to run far away sometimes.
I’m tired of reminding myself that other people have things worse than we do.
My name is Bart and I have second-hand Cancer.
