I’m feeling less than happy today. I had an appointment with my surgeon and, while I was hoping to receive the “go ahead” for my next surgery in two weeks I had a lot of fluid drained instead. I get to go back in two weeks yet again and see if we can schedule then. Because I walked into the appointment actually excited about getting my next surgery, this came as a bit of a blow. I cried quite a bit telling Husband I’m just so over being sick and broken. I want to be on he road to healing for good. I want to be done. I don’t want to be the cancer patient anymore, at least as much as possible.
After my freaking out time and opportunity to be a general crybaby, Husband took me to breakfast. We talked about the day to day things in our lives. Eventually we started talking about his work and conversations he’s had with people at his office about how to present yourself in the corporation. Even though we’re in our forties, this is new territory for us and we often find ourselves fascinated by the world of business.
Husband was telling me about one of his superiors who, when preparing for a gathering of corporate managers, decided to shave his beard. The company has only allowed them for the past year and he was given the advice to shave just in case he ran into someone who has been around for a very long time and is conservative about these things. It was a career move that he decided was appropriate. Still, he can’t wait to grow it back. He’s only had it for five or six months, but he told Husband all about how awful he felt without it. It is so weird having the wind on his face. It’s all so strange. That’s when Husband revealed to me that, after having his beard for well over twenty years, having to shave it could be a serious problem for him. He takes pride in it. It’s part of who he is, and he would consider finding other work if asked to shave it off.
I sat there trying so desperately not to say something about my breasts. I tried so hard not to be an angry person because he would have a problem with having to shave his beard, something that will grow back, but I don’t even get a choice about my breasts. I felt sick.
Husband is the best ever. I love him desperately and with all of my heart. He knew what was happening in my head, and he supported me. He still had a right to say and think everything he was. That is my job today: to find a balance between what I need and what he needs and trying to help us both. Why even bother? Because I love him.