"Down Off the Cross" October 2016, Reader's Digest

Wife and I were constantly aware that cancer was walking with us, but she never seemed to address it as a threat or enemy. I don't recall her ever attending a 'cancer survivor' walk, nor an "I survived cancer" workshop, or joining a survivor group. We moved through each phase, living as normally as possible, and expecting others to treat us as normally as possible. To the bitter end.
  That leads into the Reader's Digest article. A series of quotes: ". .  I found that only a small part of the cancer experience is about medicine. Most of it is about feelings, faith, losing and finding your identy, and discovering strength and flexibility you never knew you had.
   "The other thing I learned is that I didn't have to take on "cancer survivor" as my identity, even though there were forces pushing me to do that.
   "I felt like being a cancer survivor was taking over my life. . . . We know that the way to cope with . .  (a) life changing experience(s) is to find meaning, (which) we have to decide. . . Perhaps we make one small decision that makes a big difference in our lives.
   "What if we lived in a world without survivors? What if people decided to claim their trauma as an experience, rather than taking it on as their identity? It could mean the end of being trapped by our wounds and the start of defining ourselves by what we are becoming."

The Rocky Sex Life of Cancer Patients

Sex,  intercourse, whoopee;  whatever pet name or signal couples agree to convey the message of the need to quell the urge, somehow, goes awry during sickness, and hospital, rehabilitation centers, or nursing home stays. Nerves become frayed, energy abates, and opportunities for guaranteed intimacy are rare and fleeting. Then (s)he DIES. And the REAL battle begins.

As Wife’s cancer battle "progressed", any sort of ‘normal’ life became increasingly impossible. Illness sapped her energy; routines were disrupted. Oxygen masks and tubes protruding from the chest became the norm. But, while were still at home, we at least enjoyed sleeping in the same bed, and somewhat-snuggling. 

 Intimacy became next-to-impossible, though, when we entered the realm of hospitals and rehab centers.  These institutions seem to have no incentive to accommodate, or even to acknowledge the existence of such a primal need.  Their rooms have no locks. I can understand that, to a degree, but not really. Couples can never, ever, EVER, enjoy quiet – or romping - guaranteed privacy. The “knock, before entering” policy is, in reality, a “knock as you open-the-door -WIDE” practice – for CNAs, nurses, and, yes, even doctors. More like tap, tap, swing open door, and announce the parade. One nurse recounted opening a door, only to find a couple locked in hot embrace. She reported fleeing the room screaming. 

I’d been under the impression that this primal urge would recede after the partner died. Wrong, wrong, WRONG. That urge still drives, MONTHS after Wife died.  If anything, during the first few weeks, the urge to relieve the pressure on the prostate gland overwhelmed me, as if the dammed river refused any more to be constrained.  In my younger days, I’d heard stories of wives pulling husbands out of the path of the recently-widowed, and of men hauling their women to the curb when newly-turned widowers were roving the streets. Now, I understand that urge, and sympathize – with both parties.

Now that the caring-for-the-patient mode had waned, and  the loneliness tsunami has somewhat abated, all remains is emptiness of heart, strung-out emotions, loss of purpose, and THAT urge -  Still. Plain. Simple. Strong. Primal.