I met my wife, Kathy, when I was 19 years old. We have been together for almost 32 years. A little over a week ago she was diagnosed with advanced colorectal cancer, discovered during a routine colonoscopy, and it is difficult to know right now what the prognosis is. We are 51 years old, recently covered by Obamacare, and over the course of our lives the only times either of us has been hospitalized is during the birth of our three children, all over 21 years ago.
I never really worry about health issues. Kathy and I are in good shape, we eat well, get a reasonable amount of exercise, and stay out of the sun. If anything, Kathy is healthier than I am. She eats better, is more active, and because she works a lot with children, she has an immune system that is the envy of the world. She shrugs off colds that waylay me for days.
But now she has cancer, and we are literally fighting for her life.
Kathy went in for surgery last Monday, and spent five days in the hospital fighting a fever and recovering from her surgery. I spent every night in the hospital by her side. She came home Friday night, and we finally slept in our comfortable bed. She's back on normal food, with some modifications. The painkillers she takes make her a little loopy, which is unusual, because she and I never drink alcohol (alcoholism runs in both our families, so we avoid it) so seeing her even slightly off her mental game is weird, but cute too.
I love Kathy very much. When I think about why I try to be a good and moral person, my thoughts rarely travel first to my philosophies and my values. They travel to her. I want her to be proud of the person I am, and I want to honor her love for me by being the best person I can be.