Hubby was diagnosed in April 2019. We're the ones where he almost died the week he was diagnosed after a botched kidney stone procedure.
I think I have some crazy form of PTSD. I live in a world that's semi conscious. I love the pandemic, because every day is the same and I have time with him. At the same time, I absolutely hate it and know it's unhealthy. He shares very little with me - - he's just gritting his teeth and getting through the days. All his energy goes into his job. It's a great distraction and, of course, he worries about keeping insurance. We both just want to pretend things are OK as long as we can.
I've had two women in my "diagnosed same time/level" circle lose their husbands this week and it's freaking me out. I'm so sad for them and yet I really don't want to reach out. I'm a damn superstitious monkey. My subconscious does not believe it's not contagious. My conscious mind tells me I have no reserves. My super ego wants to be a good person, but I wake up and go to sleep hearing a little voice that says *run away.*
My husband. God, my husband. He is suffering so much. The arm he broke and had surgically repaired in February hurts to the point I'm worried he has rebroken it. He doesn't get out of bed weekends, and is slow on work days. He can no longer sit in a chair a full day. He tells himself - and me - that the pain is from Xgeva. That the pain is the Zytiga working. That the pain is anything other than the cancer eating him from the inside out.
I'm drinking too much. That's probably obvious from this post. I no longer know how to help him, or help myself.
Love to you all. Thank you for letting me dump it all here.