‘He’s my rock through all of this’

by Julie Bach

Our family enjoying a great little park in Northside.

After my diagnosis I read so many stories of women’s spouses walking out on them after their breast cancer diagnosis. I was shocked, and when I talked to John about it, he was immediately disgusted. “What?” he asked. “How could they do that?” I knew then there was never going to be a moment where he wasn’t going to be there for me every step of the way. 

But this is not for the faint hearted. Chemo treatments are exhausting. They’re emotionally draining, physically taxing and painful. From the moment we get out of the car in the parking garage, John carries everything for me. I literally walk in with a mask and that’s it. He packs a lunch for us, brings ice for my neuropathy gloves, all my bags, medicine, blankets, water, his laptop — and maybe most importantly, candy to kill the taste in my mouth once the IV has started pumping. 

I always offer to help, but he always refuses and usually makes a joke about being the pack mule. We walk from the garage, into a nearby building and across a skywalk before arriving on the third floor of the Barrett Cancer Center. It’s a long walk. Once I get in, I have to let them access the port in my chest. This has become the most anxious part of treatments. Even though we numb the area hours before, about 90% of the time it is bad. It hurts a lot. And John can’t be there. He sits in the waiting room with all of my belongings waiting for this part to be over. Once it is, I go out to him, and he sits and puts his arm around me until I go back to see my chemo doctor. 

Due to COVID precautions, he can’t go back for that part either, so he gets on the phone and stays on speaker throughout my entire exam while taking notes. The doctor and I go over all of my questions, and John almost always comes prepared with questions, too.

Inside the treatment room

We then meet with my nurses to start infusion, and finally, he can come back with me. This part can take hours, and while the nurses take wonderful care during treatment and during my allergic reactions to the meds, I can’t imagine him not being there. The entire time, John is constantly checking on me, rubbing my feet and legs, making sure I eat lunch, giving me candy and offering to bring me coffee, water or whatever I could desire. 

Most importantly, he is just there. He packs the ice into my gloves and slippers to help ward off neuropathy. Depending how much medication I receive, I don’t always remember the whole treatment, but I always take comfort knowing he is there watching out for me. After I’m done, he packs everything back up, loads all our bags on his shoulders and carries it all back to the car while holding my hand. We end treatment days by getting takeout from anywhere I want for dinner.

I don’t know how to describe it any other way than to say that he is my rock through all of this. John and I have been married for 25 years and have gone through a lot together. We have lost our fathers, my grandparents as well as John’s sister, Karen, earlier this year. We have witnessed the births of our three daughters and packed so much life into the past 30 plus years of being together. 

Still, there has been nothing like the roller coaster of emotion we as a family have experienced in the past four months. Watching John's process after my diagnosis was extremely hard. To be honest, he was a mess. He was struggling to find reason and a purpose in all this. I think it has gotten better for him since I started treatment because now we have a plan. There is an end in sight, and he is a fixer. He always has been. He needs me to be okay, and if I’m not he’ll do anything he can to know I will be alright. 

I think that is the definition of a good husband in a good marriage. You go through phases of caring for each other. When he tore his achilles, I cared for him to make sure he could recover and rest. When Josie had her big surgery a few years back, I couldn’t leave her side, and he made sure that everything else in our life was working so that I didn’t have to leave her bedside as she recovered. 

We may be a little co-dependent, but how does that not happen when you create a lifelong relationship with someone since you were teenagers? It's our vibe. It’s what we do, and through all of the trauma and hardship of the past few months I have seen more clearly how good of a marriage we have — and how fiercely loved I am.

NOTE: While these are all my thoughts, credit goes to my daughter Greta for helping me write this post.