Control Freaking Out
I never consider myself a control freak until I was told that much of how my body responds to cancer and treatment is out of my control. And the only person struggling more with the lack of control we have over this situation is my boyfriend.
E is someone who gets things done. I am one of those adults who is somewhat organized at work but when it comes to managing the life stuff that comes with adulthood, I am completely inept. E made sure I filed my taxes on time for the last four years. He fixes things in my apartment, reminds me to send back items within their return window, updates the virus software on my computer, calls my cell service provider to demand a better rate, all these little tasks that improve my life but are not my strong suit. E is the one who pushed me to call MSK for an earlier appointment, and because of his persistence, I am about 7 days ahead of my original treatment plan. That make not seem like much but my mental health benefits from every second saved.
E;s story is not mine to tell but our story of how we are managing this next phase of our life together is mine. He is a tremendously private person and his trust in me to keep his secrets is something I cherish and would not violate. I want to scream from the rooftops how his support of me is critical to me getting up every day to face this diagnosis day in and day out. And I guess blogging about it on Medium is the 21st century way to do that.
E spends a lot of time reading studies and comparing outcomes with the various treatment options out there for my situation. I once asked a doctor a very specific question E sent me and the doctor paused and said to me, “Well, that is a very good question. He is clearly reading up on treatment and knows his stuff.” E shrugged off the compliment but I know it landed and made him happy. While sometimes his incessant research and questions can be overwhelming, I can also see how important it is to him that he does that work. It is what he feels he can control and contribute. He is devastated that he could not prevent this from happening to me. And as many times as I tell him, that is not his job, I can’t convince him. His reaction is raw, full of emotion, and not subject to logic.
I found E later in life. I was 38 when we met and fell in love. I had been single for so long that I got used to looking out for myself. Within a few weeks of getting together, E installed a coat rack I had ordered months before that had been leaning against the wall. He shows his love for me in tangible tasks — his love language is acts of service. But this crisis we are facing is not one he can repair, fix, or prevent. I know that is tearing him up inside. And that means when I don’t ask the exact right question, or get the earliest appointment, he lashes out. His anger is not at me, he knows the things he is asking me to do are not my strong suit. His anger is at the situation we find ourselves in. So am I. What we have to work through is not letting our anger overtake what we have. And that is fucking hard. Our relationship has become a threesome (zing!), with my BC sitting on the couch between us, looming over us like a black cloud, threatening to ruin us. We are both working so hard to maintain normalcy, some lightness, during this absolute shit time. Some days are better than others. I hope the clouds begin to part for both of our sakes. Because I can’t do this without him.
