|Rob at home in December.|
The world is too much with us.
In between trying to have accounts changed from Rob's name to mine, I realized that the last social outing Rob and I did was on September 11th and he brought a tank of oxygen with him. He was still recovering from the 7-hour VAT biopsy he had two weeks earlier. We received the diagnosis of stage 3 or 4 lung cancer on September 8. By September 14th, Rob was contracting staph from an infected port a careless surgeon had inserted into his chest earlier that morning. From that point forward, Rob did nothing less than fight for his life. It was a battle royal.
During the six months from diagnosis we had just a handful of days that were relatively normal--less than a week. As I think about the events I can't help but wonder if Rob might have been better off not being treated at all. He would have avoided three major staph infections, the weeks of antibiotics for each, thoracic surgery, removal of a rib, losing capacity to walk, spinal surgery followed by rehabilitation that never work, heavy doses of steroids and radiation and two chemo treatments.
My husband never stood again, let alone walked, after December 30th and he died on March 8th. How much worse could it have been had he said, No to medical interventions?