D Day Minus 178 (September 12, 2009): If.....................

“If.” You said, standing to the side of my yoga mat, dropping a basket of clean clothes next to you. I lost my balance and fell from tree pose. We didn’t know anything about the BRAF trial, except for what we Googled yesterday at Bush International -- after we ate at Pappadeaux. It was only Saturday and we wouldn’t know anything about the trial until Monday. We both knew that! But, it didn’t stop you from checking your MD Anderson account before you left for Wegmans this morning. It didn’t stop me from asking you to check again, when you got home. We wanted a plan today. That wasn’t going to happen. So we coped by distractions. Me with yoga. You with laundry.


“If.” You said, handing me the remote, like you read my mind. I thumbed the remote and stopped Bryan Kest in his tracks. Tree pose (on the other side) was just going to have to wait.

“If.” You said again. “Things don’t work out.” You scratched your neck with your right hand. “I don’t want a sad funeral. I want a celebration. And I want to go back to Hawaii. I want our family to scatter my ashes in the ocean near Waikiki.” I forced myself not to cry. Then you’d be consoling me. This was not about me! So, I just listened to the rhythm of your voice and took in everything you said.

“If I die, I want you to know what I want. You’re the only one I can talk to about this without freaking out.” I flinched when you said the “d” word without a joke attached to it. We knew the odds with melanoma so death, and living life to the fullest, was a constant undercurrent. We just never said the “d” word out loud in the mixed company of melanoma and cancer. It made it too real.

“If you die before me?” I said. “Do you promise to let me know there is something more? I hope I’m the one nagging you or torturing you from the other side. But..."I bit my lip and forced myself not to sit down on the weight bench next to the elliptical trainer.

“If you die before me, will you let me know if I was right about knowing you before you were born? I know we chose each other. I know there are no accidents.” Then I smiled. “But sometimes, I forget, and I’d like some proof.”

“If we really are worm food,” I looked straight into your green eyes and smiled again. “I don’t want to know.” That made you smile too. You believed that when you died, you were just worm food. That was up until you almost died last February. After that you didn’t.

“If you don’t get in this trial, we’ll figure something out.” I said. “I’d give up everything for you to be better and to just complain about work and traffic – normal things. I wish money and things could get rid of your cancer. But it can’t. I wish I could give up a body part, because I would. But it wouldn’t matter. Stupid, stupid, stupid cancer.” You hugged me really hard and said, “I know and you already have.”

“If we need to move to Houston.” I said. “I will.”

“If anything happens.” I added. “I will be there--always.” You hugged me again and picked up your laundry and said, “Finish your yoga.”

Right in the middle of corpse pose, you bounced down the steps to the basement and said, “I’ve got an appointment for next Thursday."  I jumped up and danced for joy.  And so did you. Then I ran to make reservations and dared to think: If...................