I didn’t have any sick days available, so my test results were entered into my chart while I was sitting at the office. I looked them over before actually seeing a doctor.
I recognized what I was seeing, but still double-checked. I lingered there, processing what I’d already suspected. The initial shock faded, but one thought persisted: “What about Gracie?”
For 40 years, I’ve been caring for my wife. After a devastating car accident when she was just 17, doctors didn’t expect her to make it through the night. No one thought she’d live long enough to marry, have children, or even see grandchildren.
But against all odds, she did. Yet, the crisis remains unchanged.
As her surgeries near the hundred mark, crisis has transformed from a temporary setback into our everyday reality. Over these four decades, I’ve never experienced a plateau.
On a good day, stressful moments don’t come just once a month—they can happen every single day. You’re always on edge, constantly assessing what’s next: a potential seizure, a code red, a drop in health, dressing a wound. It’s a lot. This is simply our terrain.
Our lives are governed by systems that most people have never encountered, things most would find hard to grasp: food, medication, transport, safety, finances, and advocacy. I carry all of this with me. When she can’t voice her needs, I speak for her. I’m there for even the simplest requests, like a glass of water.
This is a highly specialized operation with zero backups, no room for errors. Like countless caregivers across the country, I’m in charge of it all.
Two days after my results came in, I found myself sitting in the exam room when my doctor asked if I had any questions. Besides the usual queries, two others emerged: how much care will I need going forward, and how much care can I provide?
That’s how closely intertwined our situations are.
When cancer enters the equation, it becomes less about survival and more about decay. What happens if I’m unable to manage her care?
This isn’t fear. It’s just the math of the situation.
We often debate who should lead this country. Yet, millions quietly shoulder responsibilities that carry a weight most cannot fathom.
These responsibilities don’t play out on camera or require speeches; there’s little room for mistakes. The burden is simply there.
Adding something like cancer complicates matters in ways that aren’t political. What can truly withstand if the one holding everything together falters?
This diagnosis was identified early. That buys some time for us.
Caregivers are often reminded to prioritize their well-being. I’ve advocated for this for years. But this situation exceeds just maintenance; it calls for intervention, recovery, and stepping back from work. It upends everything—health, emotions, lifestyle, finances, endurance. There’s no untouched aspect.
When detailed, many caregivers hesitate to admit this truth: “Sometimes, we need help.”
Tackling this current crisis means instituting a system I can manage while I’m not present. This requires accepting help that might not align with my standards. It means training others, hiring assistance, and acknowledging that things will likely go awry.
But that’s where my beliefs must step in. My wife has a savior, yet I am not hers.
Still, I’m tasked with making breakfast and doing laundry. Trusting in a higher power doesn’t eliminate the burden, but it informs how I carry it.
The question I repeatedly ask myself comes up again: “What do I truly believe?”
If my faith holds, what does that demand of me in this moment? We sing about trusting God, but it’s in times like these that that trust faces its greatest test.
A long time ago, a reporter posed an interesting question: “What would a caregiver do if Jesus were in your shoes?”
I don’t know how He’d act. I do know what He did. While on the cross, He entrusted His mother to John.
For years, I’ve escorted my wife into operating rooms, placing my trust in surgeons I barely knew to do what I couldn’t. I signed the necessary papers, handed them over, and waited—not because I understood every detail, but because I believed they did.
If I can trust doctors I don’t know well, how much more can I trust a savior?
In divine hands, what seems harsh is not neglectful. It’s deliberate and meaningful.
I can’t escape this situation, but I’m not facing it alone. So, I take the next step.
