My Husband Is Suffering From A Terminal Illness
Okay, so… my husband’s got a terminal illness. I know, *dark*, right? But stick with me. This isn't going to be a pity party. Think of it as… a really extended, intense staycation with a ticking clock.
First off, let's be clear: he's not dead yet. He's very much alive. Annoyingly so, sometimes. He still leaves his socks on the floor. The audacity!
Seriously though, the whole thing is...well, it's an experience. Like living in a darkly comedic indie film. Think "Harold and Maude" meets "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest" but with more Netflix and less institutionalization. (Hopefully!)
Terminal? More Like *Temporarily* Anchored!
So, what’s fun about terminal illness? (I can already hear the horrified gasps). Hear me out! It's given us a bizarre freedom. We're crossing things off the bucket list like we're playing bingo. I made him try durian. He hated it. Victory!
We've had some seriously awkward conversations. Like, what happens to his extensive collection of vintage Star Wars toys? Do I sell them? Donate them? Build a shrine to his inner geekdom? The pressure!
And the medical jargon! It’s like learning a whole new language. I can now confidently use terms like "palliative care," "prognosis," and "existential dread" in casual conversation. So sophisticated!
The *Unexpected* Benefits of… Well, You Know.
One surprisingly fun part? The sheer amount of weird stuff people send us. Get-well cards with questionable advice ("Have you tried essential oils?"). Edible arrangements that look vaguely phallic. It's a constant source of amusement. Thank you, internet!
We've also become experts at navigating the healthcare system. Turns out, hospitals are full of hidden mysteries! Secret elevators! Terrifyingly efficient nurses! Cafeterias that serve surprisingly decent grilled cheese! It's an adventure, I tell you.
But seriously, the biggest surprise has been the laughter. We laugh a lot. Sometimes inappropriately. Sometimes until we cry. But mostly, we laugh. It's our coping mechanism. Plus, laughter lines are way better than frown lines, right?
And let’s be honest, death is a universal experience. Everyone deals with it eventually. Some people just get a sneak peek at the RSVP list a little earlier than others. We're just getting a head start on the planning, really. (Open bar? Definitely open bar.)
Embrace the *Absurdity*!
Look, I’m not saying it’s easy. There are definitely tough days. Days filled with tears and frustration and the overwhelming urge to hide under the covers. But there are also days filled with joy and connection and a deep appreciation for the little things.
Like that time he accidentally glued his eyebrows together while trying to craft a miniature replica of the Millennium Falcon. Or when he insisted on wearing a rubber chicken hat to his chemotherapy appointment. (He said it brought him luck. I think it just scared the nurses.)
The point is, life is absurd. And death is just the ultimate punchline. So, why not embrace the absurdity? Why not find the humor in the darkness? Why not wear a rubber chicken hat to your chemotherapy appointment? Okay, maybe not. But you get the idea.
It's about making memories. About savoring every moment. About telling each other "I love you" a million times. And about laughing. Always laughing.
So, yeah, my husband has a terminal illness. It's not exactly a topic you bring up at cocktail parties. But it’s a part of our story. And it's a story filled with love, laughter, and a whole lot of weirdness. And honestly? It's kind of fun to talk about. In a twisted, slightly morbid, but ultimately life-affirming way.
And if you see me wearing a slightly crazed grin and wielding a vintage lightsaber? Don't worry. I'm just living my best life. With a side of existential dread.
Wish us luck!
