Cancerous Tears and Fears
Let me take this opportunity to emphatically state how very much I wholeheartedly adore and heavily rely upon my two gay boyfriends; each one is so very different from the other and both fill such vital roles in my life. They are each in their own way such incredible individuals that amaze me on a daily basisand from both of them I find such superhero strength as we laugh at ourselves and all the monsters lurking under our beds. I cannot imagine my life without them.
One of them is very sick with the big C right now -his second bought with the obstinate melanoma...notoriously unresponsive to treatment with a mere 5% effective rate with chemo and not much higher with radiation. Melanoma can basically only be combatted through full surgical removal from the body; Mr. Saucy Funnybuns has melanoma that has migrated throughout his entire lymphatic system thus rendering this option obsolete. I have known this since last spring, and spent every Friday night of his first round of chemo with him pretending not to hear him vomitting, trying desperately to make "Chemo Night" something other than what it was and trying equally as desperately to make sure he enjoys himself and his life as much as humanly possible; not an easy feat between job loss, apartment upheaval and some incredibly fucked up luck at times. Through it all, I have tried my best to keep the laughter flowing forth amidst the tears and smiles alike; my number one priority is and always has been that he feel as loved and supported as humanly possible and have as much fun as humanly possible. He deserves all the love and support of 10,000 Synges.
I have suspected and quite honestly hoped for some time now that he was headed toward a decision to stop undergoing chemo treatments. Knowing full well the minimal effective rate and having borne witness to another beautiful friend's battle with this particular illness, I felt strongly that the question of quality of life needed to be addressed. I never made my feelings known, other than to say that I wholeheartedly supported any decision he might make; it's his illness and needs to be his fight and his decisions all the way. I never offered up information, merely passing along various resources that he might do as little or as much research as he wished. Tonight, he informed me of his decision to stop treatment.
It's so odd- this is a decision I clearly support and am in a way happy for, but I wasn't expecting it to be so very hard to hear uttered aloud. I guess that's the difference between considering something in the abstract and facing a concrete reality. He said we would have a long talk very soon about it all and I felt so lost and panicked, praying that the talk would not be tonight. I thought I was ready for this, and have known it was coming for such a long time...yet it still slapped me in the face in the coldest and cruelest of ways as only fear can do.
Although he would try feebly to dispute this fact, he's a mere baby and it completely breaks my heart that he's going through this and even faced with these decisions. When I first met him, he was so very lost, and just when he began to find his way the ground suddenly turned to quicksand. Were I one to believe in the notion of fair and unfair, I would be quite vexed and cry most foul and unjust at the top of my lungs; I learned a long time ago that fair and unfair are demons of our own creation and all that exists is life and its many surprises. Still, this surprise makes me cry when I leave his apartment to return home at night.
Mr. Saucy Funnybuns and I make things an adventure. We often act like an old married couple, and sometimes it seems like we are. We have wine and laundry nights and fold eachother's clothes to the background music of discussions about everything in life. We usually drink too much and lose any sense of decorum, even at brunch. He talks in a not-so-quiet voice, sometimes about things he should probably not say in such a not-so-quiet-voice. He makes me snort when I laugh and I try to make him laugh so hard he shoots beer out of his nose (which happened once). He's always trying to feed me and always worried that I'm not eating enough, even when I pig out. He gets all my jokes and calls me on all my shit, sometimes knowing me better than I'd like to admit (to which he would undoubtedly respond "sometimes?"). He spent my mother's birthday with us at their house and on the last night we stayed up with Mom crying and talking all night honestly about illness and death and it was a beautiful journey for all of us. He vacuums more than anyone I have ever met in my life but still loves me despite my slovenliness. He barged into the ER of St. Luke's Roosevelt Hospital at 1am and searched everywhere for me when I had mono the 3rd time (which by the way I do not have now, thankfully) so that I wouldn't have to walk home alone and sick. He laughed at me but tried to arrange it so that we were always taking cabs when I broke my toe having sex. He sent flowers to me opening night of my last show half the country away, which somehow got delivered to my apartment where he was staying and disappeared into the clutches of the super causing us endless giggles. He sings like a god and holds me like an angel when I am sad. He is afraid of me when I have PMS. I am afraid of him dying.
No matter how I may accept and deal with death and no matter how many people I love die way too early, it remains ever gut wrenching and heartbreaking.
Now would be a great time to discover I had suddenly aquired superpowers....if only...
One of them is very sick with the big C right now -his second bought with the obstinate melanoma...notoriously unresponsive to treatment with a mere 5% effective rate with chemo and not much higher with radiation. Melanoma can basically only be combatted through full surgical removal from the body; Mr. Saucy Funnybuns has melanoma that has migrated throughout his entire lymphatic system thus rendering this option obsolete. I have known this since last spring, and spent every Friday night of his first round of chemo with him pretending not to hear him vomitting, trying desperately to make "Chemo Night" something other than what it was and trying equally as desperately to make sure he enjoys himself and his life as much as humanly possible; not an easy feat between job loss, apartment upheaval and some incredibly fucked up luck at times. Through it all, I have tried my best to keep the laughter flowing forth amidst the tears and smiles alike; my number one priority is and always has been that he feel as loved and supported as humanly possible and have as much fun as humanly possible. He deserves all the love and support of 10,000 Synges.
I have suspected and quite honestly hoped for some time now that he was headed toward a decision to stop undergoing chemo treatments. Knowing full well the minimal effective rate and having borne witness to another beautiful friend's battle with this particular illness, I felt strongly that the question of quality of life needed to be addressed. I never made my feelings known, other than to say that I wholeheartedly supported any decision he might make; it's his illness and needs to be his fight and his decisions all the way. I never offered up information, merely passing along various resources that he might do as little or as much research as he wished. Tonight, he informed me of his decision to stop treatment.
It's so odd- this is a decision I clearly support and am in a way happy for, but I wasn't expecting it to be so very hard to hear uttered aloud. I guess that's the difference between considering something in the abstract and facing a concrete reality. He said we would have a long talk very soon about it all and I felt so lost and panicked, praying that the talk would not be tonight. I thought I was ready for this, and have known it was coming for such a long time...yet it still slapped me in the face in the coldest and cruelest of ways as only fear can do.
Although he would try feebly to dispute this fact, he's a mere baby and it completely breaks my heart that he's going through this and even faced with these decisions. When I first met him, he was so very lost, and just when he began to find his way the ground suddenly turned to quicksand. Were I one to believe in the notion of fair and unfair, I would be quite vexed and cry most foul and unjust at the top of my lungs; I learned a long time ago that fair and unfair are demons of our own creation and all that exists is life and its many surprises. Still, this surprise makes me cry when I leave his apartment to return home at night.
Mr. Saucy Funnybuns and I make things an adventure. We often act like an old married couple, and sometimes it seems like we are. We have wine and laundry nights and fold eachother's clothes to the background music of discussions about everything in life. We usually drink too much and lose any sense of decorum, even at brunch. He talks in a not-so-quiet voice, sometimes about things he should probably not say in such a not-so-quiet-voice. He makes me snort when I laugh and I try to make him laugh so hard he shoots beer out of his nose (which happened once). He's always trying to feed me and always worried that I'm not eating enough, even when I pig out. He gets all my jokes and calls me on all my shit, sometimes knowing me better than I'd like to admit (to which he would undoubtedly respond "sometimes?"). He spent my mother's birthday with us at their house and on the last night we stayed up with Mom crying and talking all night honestly about illness and death and it was a beautiful journey for all of us. He vacuums more than anyone I have ever met in my life but still loves me despite my slovenliness. He barged into the ER of St. Luke's Roosevelt Hospital at 1am and searched everywhere for me when I had mono the 3rd time (which by the way I do not have now, thankfully) so that I wouldn't have to walk home alone and sick. He laughed at me but tried to arrange it so that we were always taking cabs when I broke my toe having sex. He sent flowers to me opening night of my last show half the country away, which somehow got delivered to my apartment where he was staying and disappeared into the clutches of the super causing us endless giggles. He sings like a god and holds me like an angel when I am sad. He is afraid of me when I have PMS. I am afraid of him dying.
No matter how I may accept and deal with death and no matter how many people I love die way too early, it remains ever gut wrenching and heartbreaking.
Now would be a great time to discover I had suddenly aquired superpowers....if only...
posted by Le Synge Bleu at 1:32 AM
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