There is still confidence for love at forty. Lee, a brawny, attractive, bald man who made sunscreen a daily obligation in the Arizona sun, was my match. He elated me to a world I never would have imaginary, renovating everyday events into fantastical stories.
He called me lovely as if it were my name and harmonic me “Just the Way You Are” all the time. We were honestly in love. We didn’t have any relatives or friends in Tennessee, so it wasn’t the model choice to move from Arizona, but we had each other, and that was enough.
We celebrated every second we had together. Lee and our daughter Alexy were the greatest blessings in my life, and our marriage was a daydream come true.
Though things started to shift in late 2017. Lee started to notice a tenacious rash. Several trips to the doctor only resulted in insufficient creams and antibiotics. After a last inspection in January 2018, a physician finally spoke the words that no one ever wants to hear “You have cancer.”
After a biopsy verified it, we were informed that the course of treatment would be rigorous, entailing of chemotherapy and energy five days a week for six weeks. The next course of action would be surgery and a colostomy bag if that didn’t work. While broken hearted, we remained firm.
Although the actions were harsh, Lee began radiation therapy and sustained to work through the early phases. It hurt like glass and fire. With such stamina, he pushed through. The chemotherapy tracked, and Lee complained of unbearable chest unbearable on the day he was scheduled to start. Because he was that powerful, physicians evacuated the fluid around his lungs that was visible on an X-ray without the need for anaesthesia. However, everything changed with the test findings. There were cancer cells in the liquid. His lungs were affected by the malignancy. Phase 4. lethal. He had eight months to live, conferring to the doctor.
I passed out. Inexact of what to do, we both sobbed that night. We took a plane right away to Arizona to visit the Cancer Treatment Centres of America. God Himself seemed to meander the hallways of the hall, which was a gift from heaven. We started nomadic every month between Tennessee and Arizona for Lee’s therapy after he had significant lung surgery. Even if money was partial, it didn’t matter. Together, we were promised in fighting.
It was a calm, characteristic day on July 1st when we transported our dog, Phoebe, to the lake. Lee fell asleep in his chair later that night and didn’t wake up. In a panic, I telephoned 911. He was smiling and sitting up by the time I inwards at the hospital. However, testing exposed treacherously low oxygen levels. He was admitted to the ICU. Days later, doctors told me Lee had only five days left. I had to be the one to tell him. I’ll never get away holding each other, crying together. Our daughter had just flown in. The three of us stuck to each other.
Lee wanted to go home with hospital, and though the first attempt failed due to oxygen issues, we finally got him back with proper care. I didn’t leave his side. We sang to him, prayed over him, covered him, and just celebrated every moment. Even in pain, Lee was his usual self funny, droll, full of love. Nurses moved us to a hidden room so I could sleep beside him in a real bed. We spent those days talking, smiling, watching TV, and just being calm as a family.
After five days, we brought him home again with hospital. Everything was ready. Lee smiled as Alexy and I went about our day, scrubbing and watching TV. On Saturday, we all woke up and liked a quiet day. Around 3 PM, Lee flowed off for a nap. That night, I kissed him all over, sang to him, and told him how much I loved him. I told him I’d be okay even though I wouldn’t.
Those last days were the most pitiful and most important of my life. I got to love him through the end. He gave me a dream. And even though he’s gone, I will carry that love with me incessantly.
