America and cancer and stuff.

Last November on election night I got blind drunk. If you know me you know how insane that is. I mean I got blitzed out of my mind, can't remember, TM tells me vomiting on myself kind of pissed.

A week later my husband, TM, was diagnosed with cancer. Yeah. That sucked super hard. I, once again, got blind stupid crazy it's-amazing-I-didn't-get-alcohol-poisoning kind of hammered. Trump that was horrible for our family. TM with cancer? Genuinely the worst thing that could ever happen to me... to him... to our family.

Thus began a habit. A really BAD habit. I've drank more since the election and the DX than I have drank in my entire life added up to that point in my life. I'm a little stunned by how quickly and easily it all steamrolled, like a snowball rolling downhill. 

Did I also mention that my mother was DX with Stage 3 lung cancer in September. Fun couple of months. Pussy grabber in Chief. My rock of a hubby with cancer and facing surgery. My mother, honestly and cold hard truth, dying from cancer. As a chemist will tell you, alcohol is a solution. It was for me. It still is.... but I'm working on it.

TM got a great Dr at Sloan Kettering in the city and surgery was scheduled for December. My mom had surgery scheduled, also December, and was already undergoing treatment. Nothing I could do about the PG in Chief but I did what I could.... rallies, marches, writing, calling. We started to call it "going to church" in our house. My Kitten would often ask on Friday's after school "What are we doing for church this weekend, Mami?" Yeah, THAT I love.

Two weeks later, back at Sloan in the city, TM and I waited, anxiously and with great fear in the waiting room. It was unnerving. They told us that 99% of the time it's cancer to just accept that and with the surgery we would discover what stage and how to proceed. So we sat in a room full of other cancer patients and their families and loved ones and leaned on each other, literally, and waited. We were called into a room, all the normal stuff was done. Then just waiting. Ads for the hospital and cancer treatments and counseling services and what not flashed by on a screen. TM and I sat silently just holding each other. I looking up into his beautiful eyes and I broke the silence saying "What if you are THE ONE? You could be. Why NOT you?" He rolled his eyes at me and pulled me in close. I mentally chastised myself and reminded myself that I'm the pessimist in this relationship.... how could I have possibly have given him false hope? OMG what is wrong with you that you would do that to him when he needs you the most. Ugh. The Dr. finally came in, charts in hand, shook our hands and sat in his spinny chair and opened the charts. We waited. Dr. asked TM how he was feeling and recovering from the surgery, if he was having any complications or issues. TM said he was sore and still healing but okay. Dr. again glanced at the charts and then said "Like we told you in 99 out of 100 cases it's cancer. Looks like you're that one guy. Tumor was benign." He said more things. I think he was using the Charlie Brown teacher voice because I couldn't understand a word he said. TM and I just stared at each other. I found my voice first and said "So, he's fine? That's it?" Dr. said "Yup, pretty much." He stood up and shook our hands again and TM finally found his voice and he said "So I NEVER have to see you again." Dr. laughed and said "Yeah. That's what it comes down to." He left. We stood in complete shock.

Now some more info and more story. TM and I have been sharing a coat this past winter. We only have one that fits. So it became "The Coat." Once TM was DX the rule, every time he told me to just wear the coat was... "You have fucking cancer. YOU wear the coat." That day we got the good news in NYC it was FREEZING cold. I think the high in the city that day was 12 degrees. I had on a shirt and a sweatshirt but it was damn cold. TM had gotten out of the car to get to his appointment on time while I parked and walked over, teeth chattering the entire way. So anyway, TM and I literally stumble out of Sloan. Literally because our legs are shaking from shock and our minds are spinning wildly out of control. Neither of us could think straight and we were holding each other in standing positions because of this cloud of confusion, shock, and joy that was surrounding us. Well, 12 degrees is a cold slap in the face to anybody, it was to us too. Suddenly I was huddling into TM to stave off the wind and the temperature, wanting his arms wrapped completely around me for warmth. TM stands back away from me and holds me at arms length. The sun was shining on his and the wind ruffling his hair. He had a smile on that could rival the brightness of the sun itself. He started taking off The Coat and I immediately jumped in and said "NO!!!" He smiled that smile that makes my knees weak and makes the butterflies in my stomach swarm and he said, quietly, "You wear the coat..... because I don't have cancer." I started crying, and laughing at the same time and turned around so he could put the coat on me. Again we huddled together, still stumbling in our steps, and walked down the streets.

I had found this little Cuban place nearby to Sloan before driving into the city that day so I immediately started navigating us towards it. We giggled like children. We cried through all the tears. We clung tightly to each other. I traced his face with my fingers. I found us a seat and we just sat down for a spell.... for fear of falling down. Incredulous doesn't even begin to describe our feelings. We sat and cried more and laughed more. We repeated our undying love for each other a thousand times. We held hands and couldn't stop touching. Finally we went and got food. Cuban food. Very decent Cuban food. We talked and ate and I texted all of the children. We waited to come down from the high and realized it was only going to slightly fade. After an hour or two we made our way to the car and started the drive home.

It was a good day. It was a REALLY good day. One of my best ever. It was also a sad day. It was the day we learned my mom's surgery hadn't gone well at all. Her prognosis was  grim. I should have been sadder but on that day I just didn't have it in me. It was the same day that someone told me that the entire reason my heart beats within my chest didn't have cancer. We celebrated. 

I'd like to say I stopped getting drunk that day. I didn't. Everything else was still true. My mother was in worse shape than we had thought. Our Conman in Chief was still a complete asshat, pedophile, sexual assaulting, moronic, barely literate fuckface.

This started out different than it's ending. My take away is that I'm working on drinking, and here I am still 5 months later I find myself quietly telling myself, and him sometimes, TM doesn't have cancer. Truly. That's everything.