Treatment

Jim endures the brutal assault that is chemotherapy.

“Jim, as a patient, was docile, which is not a characteristic anyone would have thought to assign to my husband. He had a lot of energy and enthusiasm for life. Jim was passionate about his multiple endeavors and he didn’t shy away from disagreements (that’s a polite way of saying he could be a strident, argumentative S.O.B.). I found it disconcerting when his forthright, live-out-loud personality settled into one of quiet acquiescence.  

 Without fail, when the doctors came in on rounds and asked him how he was, he’d reply in a chipper voice: ‘I’m fine. How are you?’ rather than ‘I have a fucking shitty cancer! I feel sick all the time! I can’t crap! My body hurts! I hate feeling nauseous and dopey! This bed is shit! I hate your TV! I’m terrified of dying! I don’t want to leave my family! I have no idea if any of this crap is going to save my life and it just plain sucks!’”