Coping with emotional and physical pain years after a spouse's death from cancer leads to more questions about his treatment.
PUBLISHED August 02, 2018
Diana M. Martin has been an adjunct professor in The Writing and Reading Center
at Montgomery College in Rockville, MD, for over 10 years. She has a MFA in
Creative Nonfiction and has published articles in the areas of parenting,
health and cultural arts. When her husband lost his battle with cancer of
unknown primary, later identified as bile duct cancer, she became the sole
caregiver for their adult son, Alex, who is autistic.
During my husband's treatment for bile duct cancer from 2013 to 2015, we didn't pay much attention to integrative medicine. One year into his diagnosis, the oncology practice he was with opened up an integrative medicine office. Because I couldn't stand to see him suffer from neuropathy in his legs and feet, sleep disorders, poor appetite and fatigue, I asked his oncologist if it was worth a visit to see what other treatment might be beneficial to eradicate or at least reduce the side effects of FOLFOX, radioembolization and a variety of other chemicals which were infused into his weakening body every other week. By now, Dan's immune system had been so compromised that he needed blood transfusions to continue. At one point, he was on 21 different medications at various times during the day to help with pain, dry mouth, skin rashes, muscle spasms, anxiety, memory loss, sleep walking, and that is only what I can remember.
Even though I still have many of his medical files, I am afraid to peruse them for fear that I might reactivate painful memories. But that is the problem with taking care of someone you love with cancer. You can't not remember – especially when it comes to medication. The endless trips to the pharmacy with new and old prescriptions to be filled, waiting on line, insurance, counting out pills and bartering with the one you love to take them even if they have to be blended into food or Ensure. I'm convinced that pain killers like oxycodone are called “controlled substances,” not because of their danger of addiction, but because their side effects literally control your life – and everyone else's.
Even though I still have many of his medical files, I am afraid to peruse them for fear that I might reactivate painful memories. But that is the problem with taking care of someone you love with cancer. You can't not remember – especially when it comes to medication. The endless trips to the pharmacy with new and old prescriptions to be filled, waiting on line, insurance, counting out pills and bartering with the one you love to take them even if they have to be blended into food or Ensure. I'm convinced that pain killers like oxycodone are called “controlled substances,” not because of their danger of addiction, but because their side effects literally control your life – and everyone else's.
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