In sickness and in health

"Any medical conditions?"

I stood gaping at the woman behind the pharmacy counter. "I don't know how to answer that question," I said, with a little more tone in my voice than I really intended. She shrugged, "um." "Well, I had CANCER. So I guess that's a medical condition." "Do you still have it?" she asked me.

The tone was there because Bob and Riley were waiting in the car while I ran in to get my prescription filled. Which doesn't sound like a big deal except that Riley was a mess and ready to be out of the car. And Bob was sick and in a ton of pain. And it wasn't improving.

Yesterday was the day. The day I would find out what's coming and when, and the day when I would hopefully be closer to being prepared for chemo when it starts. I spent time on my hair, outfit, and accessories. Satisfied with the look, I thought, here we go.

It never occurred to me that it would be anything but a day of discovery, preparation, and looking forward. "Mom can't come," Bob told me. Wow, our first solo appointment. Yes, first appointment without mom, and the first time Bob felt worse than me. A lot worse. He was sick, pale, and obviously in pain. But there wasn't really an option at this point.

Bulling our way through, we got ready and left the house. We were in the car. In the driveway. With the garage door shut when we both realized: Riley. We can't let Riley have the run of the house while there are workers in the basement. So there was only one option at that point, to bring him along. As far as waiting in the car, he is really absolutely fine. He climbs in the front seat and just waits. So that was not an issue. It's just riding in the car that can be a problem. He is fine as long as you're going 70 mph on the highway with no turns, variation in speed, or stops. That's when he feels the need to try and climb over the console and into the front seat. So there's a lot of time pushing him back. And then there's the whining. Which is particularly annoying when you're Bob, you're feeling terrible, and you have to literally gut it out until this is over.

I freely admit it. Bob has a much better bedside manner than I do. I don't know what to say, I tend to ask questions like, "did you take anything for it!?" and "why not?" And in my just-wanting-to-fix-it mode I come off harsh and uncaring. When I realize I'm going there, I just shut up and don't talk, which makes me seem cold and itchy.

I was in cold and itchy when we were at Dr. N's office. We were about to hear what was coming up for me, and Bob was sick. Would he be able to help me ask questions? Would I forget something? (Of course I would, and did.)

The appointment went quickly. Dr. N said he had an email to the oncologist he was working with in Indy to confirm his decision on the treatment plan, but that it would most likely involve 4 treatments with a combination of two chemo drugs, then 12 weekly treatments with another kind. Radiation after that. I mentioned having tickets to a Notre Dame game the weekend before Thanksgiving and he "pshawed" me and said, distant future, we'll just have to see how it goes.

Bob made it through the appointment, and I was trying to soften up. He was still in pain, and I offered to just go home then. We didn't really "have" to go to Cancer Services for the wig swap but... and he said we're here, we're doing it.

In my little fantasy of how this day would go, I imagined Bob in the wig room(s) with me and the advocate, sitting back and nodding yes or no as I tried on. That is the single funniest thought I've had in a while. Bob. Bob King. Helping me pick out wigs. Even if he was feeling 1000%, had the best night's sleep of his entire life, and was carrying the winning lottery ticket in his back pocket, Bob is not that guy. I made him follow us into the wig room, and as I was explaining my situation to the advocate, he interrupted me and said, "You don't need me in here, right?" And with that, he skulked back out to the lobby.

The second go-around was a success wig-wise and with the advocate's help I got one "safe" one and one fun one, and the reminder that I can always swap either or both when or if I need to. I also got information about a prosthetic program Cancer Services offers which will be great since it will be a while before I can get reconstruction. I even got to talk a little with her about this blog, and how I hoped it was helping people. She said my advocate had shared it with the entire staff. Wow.

Poor Bob was waiting (semi) patiently when I made it back out to the lobby. We got in the car and headed South. About 15 minutes into our 30-minute ride home, I remembered the prescription. I knew he was miserable and all he could think about was getting home, texting his boss, changing, and climbing into bed. But he insisted that we stop and get it done.

I text Bob from inside the pharmacy: "15 minutes. Should we just leave?"
Bob: "Nope. Get the pills."
Polly: "Okay. I'm sorry."
Bob: "Don't be sorry."
Polly: "Well I am. I'm sorry you're sick!!! I'm sorry this was so stressful!!! I'm sorry you just need to go home and you have to wait for me!!!"
Bob: "It's called love and marriage. I'm sorry you have to feel sorry."

So there you go. Bob may not be the guy who can help me with a wig, but he is the guy who says stuff like that. That's what I need to remember when I'm tempted to tell him off (again) for not going to the doctor and taking care of his own health issues. It's called love and marriage.

By the way, I answered the lady's question at the pharmacy -- "Do you still have it?"

No, no I don't.