On my husband Joe

What can I say about Joe? Here is picture of us before marriage.

A lot of wine, to be sure!

And here is one for my 36th birthday after the cancer diagnosis, in November of 2012.

A little older, perhaps a bit wiser, but a whole lot happier.

My husband is one of the good guys. I say this having dated the not-so-good guys. He is the type of guy who, upon seeing yet another pair of shoes or another new dress, always says, "Honey, that is so beautiful on you. I am so glad you bought that!" Or, "Yes, it may be expensive, but look at that fabric and quality. It is worth it."

I know, ladies. Right?

His parents raised him right! Now, I have to do the same for this little guy.

It has been very hard for him. It has been hard for my family, but seeing your wife in so much pain on a daily basis, all while she's insisting that she can do all the activities she did before the tumors began growing so aggressively throughout her limbs, has to be difficult. He once said to me,"Why do you have to make everything so difficult? You reject every attempt of comfort or help from others. What can I do?' But being busy and useful makes me happy, and above all, he always wants me to be happy. So, as difficult as it is to see me do all the things I want to do, he still silently watches, and always lends his helping hand whenever I need it.

Yes, it is definitely not easy being married to me. I imagine that it is even harder being married to someone who has to fight cancer. He has often said that he wishes that he could carry the cancer for me. That he wishes it was him instead of me. I am so glad it isn't.

Today was my second day of chemo, and I was tired. Mainly because I was afraid to sleep last night for fear that I would wake up and have to lurch to the toilet and heave my guts out. I reasoned that if I did not sleep at all, I could anticipate when I started to feel nauseated and take anti-nausea medication before it got bad. My poor sister was so tired, and was trying to convince me to go to sleep, in vain.

"Unnee, you have to go to sleep. You will feel worse and more nauseated if you are tired. Trust me."

I then realized that Catherine was staying awake so long as I was awake.  I lied, and told her that I was going to go to sleep. I, of course, did not go to sleep.  By 3 in the morning, I could not keep my eyes open, and gave in to a fitful slumber.

So needless to say, I was extremely tired. I went to chemo today, for a shorter session. No Red Syringe of Death (RSOD) today. I was so delirious from my night of vigil that after the IV was placed in me I promptly fell asleep in my infusion chair.

In the meantime, my mother (who was probably praying), Joe, and Catherine (who were probably talking about computers and tech stuff), were left to their own devices.

Two hours later, it was done. I awoke to find my sister handing me coconut water. Oh my God. I mentioned I liked coconut water because it was nature's electrolytes, and now she has ensured that I will have a consistent flow of this running through my veins to try and combat the effects of the chemo.

"Oh, thanks!" I say. Well, I was kind of thirsty. She always seems to anticipate my needs before I do.  Where did my baby sister learn how to be so kind and thoughtful always? She has been so helpful and supportive through all of this.

My baby sister

"Did I talk in my sleep?"

"Why?" my mother asks anxiously, hovering over me as always. "Are you hiding the pain? You shouldn't hide the pain. You should scream if it hurts."

"No," I say, both amused and annoyed. She is always so dramatic. But I know it is because this has been so hard on her. She has been looking very tiny and gaunt since my diagnosis. "I am okay, Umma," I say more gently. "It did not hurt today."

Meanwhile, Joe has been quiet. He looks at me and smiles his smile that reassures each and every time that he loves me. "How are you?"

"I am fine, honey.  I'm sorry I fell asleep. I was so tired. I feel better now."

"Good."

But here is what my husband wrote, while I was sleeping.

"We are back in the infusion center again today and they are currently giving you a one hour course of Etoposide. This place is as quiet as a library and you are taking a nap. I think this is the first time I have seen you sleep in a week. There have been so many trials and challenges for you lately and you have handled them all with perfect grace and dignity. I do not know how you have done it. I love you and I wish I could take this chemo for you. I don't know why this happened, but we will get through it together. Love, Joe"

Whatever happens, there is no way that I will not survive this. I have so much to be thankful for, and so much support and love around me. My friends, family, and of course, my Joe.

Good night.