Life goes on. I’m surprised by how sad I feel about not being able to do as much online shopping anymore. But that’s probably even more indicative of the fact that it had become a problem.
A mostly-unrelated thing: we got an unsolicited piece of mail today from a funeral home, addressed to the whole family. Maybe it’s possible that we had received similar mail before and I just didn’t notice, but I know for certain that we hadn’t received such mail since my husband got diagnosed with cancer almost a year and a half ago. I for sure would have remembered that because it was in such poor taste.
I can’t help but think that we got put on some kind of mailing list because of one of the two cancer treatment facilities he’s been to. I’d put my money on the first one, both because I didn’t like them and they seemed like they were treating him like just another guy with stage IV cancer.
The thing is that it was a sobering reminder of what we’re up against (that and the rounds of chemo every two weeks, of course.) But he doesn’t seem sick; he actually seems quite well, except on chemo weekends. I’ve kind of lulled myself into complacency, at times forgetting that he even has cancer.
After all, so much of our day-to-day life remains the same, minus some of what his body has been through. But he still works full time (plus overtime.) He still worries about my MS far more than I do. We laugh a lot. We have fun times in bed. Like I said: normal stuff.
Can I, should I, assume that things will stay normal forever? The mail from the funeral home suggested no. After all, I’m not ignorant of the statistics for stage IV cancer. At the same time, I choose to ignore the statistics most of the time, because otherwise I’d be a sobbing wreck when there’s no evidence to support doing so.
He’s a person, not a statistic. And I truly believe he’ll beat the daunting odds. But the funeral home letter was a grim reminder that the luck and positive thinking may eventually run out.