Shared Story: From the infusion room: ‘I hate you, damn cancer!’
Today’s Shared Story comes from Wye Huxford, West Point, Georgia, who cared for his wife with pancreatic cancer for almost three years. This is not an Alzheimer’s story, but it expresses emotions common to many caregivers. Wye is dean of the college of biblical studies and ministry at Point University, where he has been teaching since 1976.
In January, 2019, my wife of 46 years at that time, was diagnosed with inoperable pancreatic cancer. She immediately began what would become nearly two years and seven months of chemotherapy and radiation. While our marriage had always been one of shared responsibility when it came to the chores of daily living, it wasn’t long before I became the primary caregiver. Thankfully, our two daughters live nearby and were consistently great help to us. But I soon developed routines about laundry, vacuuming, dusting, buying groceries, cooking, and a whole host of other “chores of daily living.”
This is a picture of Vicki and me made a month or so after the diagnosis in January 2019. It was a family photo shoot we had scheduled before we learned of pancreatic cancer. Vicki was determined that we do it – as were the rest of us. But honestly, most of the pictures with me in them weren’t good because I felt as though I’d either break out in tears or cursing any minute! But, the girls like this one – had one made for me for Christmas that is on a shelf where we have some of Vicki’s special things.
While the pandemic and its shut-down created all sorts of difficulties, for me it made it possible for me to teach my normal schedule of classes virtually. That meant during the time that I would have been uncomfortable leaving Vicki at home, I was able to be home. That was my best “make lemonade out of lemons” moment in life.
Sitting with Vicki
Somewhere at about the six months point, I was with Vicki in the infusion room at Piedmont Fayette Hospital and the Piedmont Cancer Center. That was just before the pandemic and someone was allowed to stay with the patient for the three to four hours the initial infusion required. We always came home with a pump and more chemo for the next 48 hours.
The room could treat about 30 patients at a time – so there were lots of people in that room receiving medicines that could create all sorts of awful side effects, but held out some hope for defeating cancer. If you know anything about pancreatic cancer, the prognosis is never encouraging. I still remember our oncologist commenting around the nine months mark, “You have already outlived the expected time your prognosis gave you.”
I always thought that I would be on the receiving end of caregiving, not the giving end. It’s not that I didn’t want to care for Vicki, just that in my head I assumed she would outlive me, not the other way around. As my daughters occasionally said, “Dad, why is Mom so sick? She is the good one of us!”
Overwhelming moment
This poem was started while I sat in the infusion room noted above. It was such an overwhelming moment for me – not just to realize that the one I love the most in this world was so critically ill, but that I was surrounded by so many people in that room all there for one reason: cancer.
The poem reflects a bit of anger – not at God, not at Vicki, not at the doctors and other medical professionals – but at cancer. It is such a perversion of the very nature of how God made the world. Perhaps it will help you – should you be in the role of caregiver for a loved one – to see that faithful people – men and women – can be faithful and angry at circumstances at the same time. I think I might have learned that by reading the Psalms.
Vicki lost her battle with cancer on August 24, 2021. She fought valiantly until the end. Her faith never wavered. The most important thing we did together was to raise two bright, faithful young women who are making a difference in their worlds. The most important thing I did alone was to be Vicki’s caregiver for those two years and eight months. Somewhere in all of that, frustration and anger were transformed into blessing – the blessing of knowing Vicki was being taken care of as she should have been.
Sitting in the Infusion Room
I hate you damn cancer
The needles are long
The medicines poison
The whole thing seems wrong.
You pick on the innocent
Your gross cells invade
The saintliest of bodies
That God ever made.
.God made creation to grow
But you found a way
To corrupt what God intended
What else can I say?
Thank God for treatment
It offers a chance to say
To hell with you damn cancer
We fight you every day.
Yes cancer is ugly and tough
But a day is coming soon
When creation is fixed forever
And cancer’s only word is doom!
But doom is not our word
Jesus will make all things new
And ugly things like cancer
Will no longer be in view!
But until then you won’t win
For I would rather feel the pain
Of watching my loved one suffer
Than allow you my joy to drain.
Years ago we stood and said
We’re one in sickness and health
Your nasty sickness is mean
But my promise brings wealth.
Our faith is strong
Our covenant secure
But victory over us
You cannot procure
So I hate you damn cancer
But you must know
Your evil is weak
My faith will still grow.
Photo by Mat Napo on Unsplash