Ticket in Hand

 I have neglected this blog for a long time - and I'm fine with it.

Much of my political venting I can get out in my private Facebook group. Pop culture is less interesting to me these days, so I feel less of a need to express my thoughts here on that as well.  Family, work and poker dominate my life - and they have all been (until recently) just great.

And as for personal stuff, well this venue has never really been much about that.   I think that might have to change, at least for one post.  I really need an outlet to express my thoughts about what has happened to me and my family in the last month.

On February 15 2024, one year exactly since my father-in-law passed away in our home from colon cancer, my wife of 21 years Beverly, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

It has been a complete shock to the system in the most devastating of ways.  She has been in great pain since last October, and misdiagnosed repeatedly.  Kicked out of the ER more than once, sent home with Tylenol, put off by her doctor and referrals, told to come back in a month or two for another scan.

They thought it was an ulcer.  Then they thought it was a cyst. 

Then on the night of the Super Bowl we went to the ER because Bev was in agony.  This time they admitted her, based on ominous bloodwork.

An MRI, a Cat-Scan and an Endoscopy Biopsy later - it was confirmed.  The big C.  Of the Pancreas.   Stage 1, but still not good.

I'm not writing this out to get into much more detail than that, or to describe what life has been like since this diagnosis or even to talk about the battle ahead.   We are going to absolutely fight, and we have a better chance than most do with this cancer variation.  But I'm not really compelled to get too nitty gritty on all of that.

I'm here to talk about the big picture.

It doesn't do good to race ahead to all the worst case scenarios, I'm not here to do that at all, but I do feel like I have to express what this horrific disease means to me.

Mark Twain's famous two certainties in life - Death and Taxes.  Let's talk about the first one.

We are all getting on that train at some point.  One comforting thing about being human, about being mortal - is that no one gets out of it.  No one can escape.  We will all be boarding the express train to the beyond.

If we were on that heavenly platform, and we could look up at the electronic signs (like the ones they have at BART stations in the Bay Area) you might see when the train is arriving.   For me, or my wife it should say something like - "Train Arriving in 2055-2065"

Well imagine stepping on the platform, looking up and seeing - "Beverly - Train Arriving in 2024-2026"

That is the heart stopping, stomach clenching, mind numbing power of a cancer diagnosis.

I stare at this sign in disbelief, and then the sign changes and briefly flashes "Times and Dates Subject to Change"

What the fuck?  So not all is lost?  The arrival time could change?  It could be 2065 after all?

So there is a ticket in hand, with a date and time of departure, and then the bottom also says - TIMES AND DATES SUBJECT TO CHANGE

Fuck. Me.

Lots of times people get on the train and it's totally unexpected.  There's no date on the sign or the ticket.  They walk out and get hit by a bus, or have a heart attack or who knows what else - and then they are stepping on the train.

Cancer hands you a ticket.  

A shocking, knee-buckling ticket.   With a desperate and heart wrenching disclaimer - TIMES AND DATES SUBJECT TO CHANGE.

There is always some hope.  Sometimes it feels like a false hope - sometimes, as in our case with a stage 1 diagnosis, the hope feels VERY real.

It's just a complete soul-sucking doom spiral at times, and at other times it makes me deeply appreciative for the love of my life and the amazing marriage that we have.

In short, I am all fucked up.  And I can't even imagine how my wife feels.  Or my daughter for that matter.

I will post more if I feel I have to.