Sharon C.

About Sharon C.

In 2011, I was diagnosed with Dysautonomia. I was disabled. My career was over. My independence was gone. Our lives changed forever. My husband willingly and immediately became my caretaker, my advocate, my hero.

In 2014, he took me to my doctor’s appointment and unbeknownst to him, I had scheduled one for him too, as his knee had been bothering him for months. Our doctor was an older gentleman with a unique sense of humor, and we will be forever thankful to him. After determining that my husband’s knee pain was osteoarthritis, he instructed my husband to “drop his drawers” and checked his prostate. We were amused, but for just a few moments. Something was wrong. This couldn’t be right. He had had no symptoms.

One week later, my husband had a prostectomy. The reports showed aggressive prostate cancer. He was 55 years old. My soulmate, a father, and grandfather, my caretaker. This can’t be happening. Thankfully, they said that they had gotten all of his cancer. Together we rejoiced! Together we became co-caretakers. For two years of his PSA being tested every 3 months and steadily rising, it was obvious that my husband still had cancer.

In the fall of 2017, we found ourselves 400 miles from home for 7 weeks of radiation at the Cancer Treatment Centers of America in Atlanta. We became part of a compassionate and supportive community. We would join them around the fireplace every evening to listen to one another’s stories. We would discuss our fears, our realities, our families, our hopes for the future. We laughed and cried together. We celebrated each other’s milestones while our warriors fought their battles against this horrific disease. We went back home hopeful that our battle would be over. Knowing that some of the others that we had come to pray for and care about would not be so blessed.

We settled back into our routine quickly enough when we got home. We celebrated with family and friends. We strived to return to our daily lives like everyone else. He took care of me. I took care of him. We took care of each other. Every three months the urologist tested his PSA. Results showed that he still had a PSA and it was still rising. A year later, we were told that it was time to involve a local oncologist.

The new oncologist reviewed his records, ran his own tests and announced to us that his prognosis for my husband was five to ten years to live. That’s a long time, yet it’s no time at all. It was devastating to hear. The cancer is in his blood stream. It is microscopic, but it’s there. Now every three months our world is turned upside down by waiting for test results. Test results that still show his PSA going up. We are in a “watchful waiting stage”. We wait. We just wait. We struggle sometimes while trying to live our lives. Family birthdays, holidays, vacations. We go and do. But it’s there, always there. We pray together, we laugh and cry together. We encourage each other. We take care of each other. We take turns picking one another up and dusting one another off. When I falter in my strength, he tells me that he is going prove that doctor wrong and that he was going to die a very old man with cancer not-from cancer! When he falters, I remind him of that declaration.

Today we are stronger. Our love is stronger. Our faith is stronger. Together we can win any battle. When we falter, we pick each other up dust each other off. We are co-caretakers. We are blessed.

Ironically, his knee rarely bothers him any more.

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