Zach & Zelda

Zelda : I know you don’t want me to share this… Zach : Like I could stop you... Zelda : You’re usually well-organized, and you always know the best way to do things. But since you’ve been on chemo and oxy, it’s different. Zach : What do you mean? Zelda : You lose your train of thought easily—and it takes you longer to do things than usual. Plus, you get confused when you’re doing things you’ve done a thousand times.  Zach : Says you. Zelda : Here's an example. Yesterday, you were setting up the French press for coffee. You had the plunger in one hand, and the container of coffee grounds in the other. Then you basically froze. You looked at me and said you had no idea what you were doing. Zach : You were probably yacking at me. Zelda : We were having a nice conversation. Zach : You were yacking. And it was distracting. Zelda : OK, I’ll give you that. There was too much going on right then. But here’s another one. Last night, I heard you in the front room, opening and shutting the do...

Warning : Strong language ahead Zelda : At our last appointment, your oncologist greeted us with, “Raise your hand if you’re going through chemo?” It was the first time we’d seen him since you started, and you and I both raised our hands. What did you think of that? Zach : I thought the 2 of you were trying to be funny. Keeping it light. Zelda : I thought it was funny. Zach : I know. But it kinda pissed me off.  Zelda : Why? Zach : I know this is shitty for you, too. I do. But you are NOT going through chemo. You don’t have the god-damn evil fucking drugs attaching every damn cell in your body. You’re not the one shitting your pants and falling in the shower. You’re not the one who can’t taste food any more, whose feet are on fire, who gets chills and shakes uncontrollably when it’s 80 degrees in the house. You can't understand how it feels, knowing that even when you’re done, and you survive the all these horrific attacks, it still won’t fucking cure you. The only thing it might d...

Zelda : Chemo is like a prize fight. If you win, the prize is this: You get to live a little longer (though you might not enjoy it). And if you lose, well, you don’t.  Zach’s fight with chemo is scheduled for 8 rounds: One infusion every 3 weeks from July to November. And while I won’t bore you with the blow-by-blow, I do want to give you a sense of how he did in rounds 1, 2, and 3. And how I did too, as his caregiver, partner, and “corner woman.” So let’s start with the introductions. Announcer voice :  “In the near corner, The former heavyweight champ, ZACH “The Hammer” PRIME . Prime is now competing in the light heavyweight class after dropping more than 40 lbs. in a training camp described as grueling and profoundly gut-wretching . “And in the far corner: The brawler known for low blows, Chemo “The Rascal” Docetaxel.   “Odds makers have Prime as a 10-point underdog, but give him a puncher’s chance in this scheduled 8-round match dubbed, “ The Bruisin’ at the Infusi...

Zelda : We all feel sad after a loss. Anticipatory grief is feeling sad before a loss, and it perfectly describes how I've felt for the past few months. I’ve been overwhelmed by waves of despair at the thought of losing Zach. And yet, he’s right here with me, in the flesh. He hasn’t gone anywhere! I’m doing my best to keep my head up, but sometimes I go under. I was watching TV the other day, and an Uber commercial brought me to tears.  It’s been 6 years and 4 months since Zach’s diagnosis of stage 4 prostate cancer. For almost 6 of those years, things were nearly normal, with the exception of not makin’ whoopee . As one doctor put it, we had the luxury of thinking of it as a chronic condition, not a terminal disease.  Every 3 months, we’d meet with Zach's oncologist to review progress and check his blood for PSA (prostate-specific antigen). Normal PSA is under 4 nanograms per milliliter (ng/mL). When it’s above 4, they test for cancer. When he was diagnosed, Zach’s level was ...