Somebody asked me, "How is Walker doing? Is he handling everything okay?" I realized I didn't really know the answer. I mean, I ask him, and he tells me he's fine, he's good...but I thought maybe we should talk a little more. It turns out, we should have talked sooner.
I have a theory that it is harder to watch a loved one go through something horrible that it is to go through it yourself. Walker can't fix this, no matter how badly he wants to. He can be supportive, he can be helpful, he can pick up my slack, but he can't fight this fight for me. So last night, while he was working on the bathroom remodel, I wandered in and asked him, "How are you doing?" He knew immediately what I was asking, and he just kind of spilled it all: how scared he is, how ineffective he feels, how terrible he feels when he has to wake me up and watch me drag my tired butt out the door for another shift at the office. He said he was doing okay up until Dr C told us I would need chemo, and that even though the oncologist disagreed and my Onco test indicated that I wouldn't benefit from chemo, hearing that scared the crap out of him. It bothers him that we can't afford for me to take unpaid leave from my job while I finish my radiation treatment. I didn't know that he went to his mom when he didn't know how to help me. I didn't know that his big brother, a friendly but stoic guy we don't see often, called him and coached him through a rough patch. I had no idea he was carrying all this inside. I wish I could promise him that I'll be fine, but I can't. I just don't know. I did promise to follow all the doctor's orders, and to never give up no matter what happens. It's not much but I think Walker felt better after we talked about everything. I just wish we had done it sooner.