Chapters 16-22
Chapter 16: So many helpers
Chapter 17: Really Expensive sweatpants
Buying those sweatpants was maybe a mistake. I wondered if he took it as a sign that I knew he was dying, that I knew he was going to live the rest of his life in sweats. I wanted to give him something that was best for where he was at, right then. So I bought the most expensive, the nicest, the navy-est navy sweatpants I could find for his 43rd birthday.
Mike dressed classy, a little preppy. He dressed smart. At the beginning of cancer, he went to the hospital for his appointments dressed for a meeting. But now, nine months later, watching him from the van as he slowly dragged himself into the hospital wearing Old Navy grey loose sweat-shorts that were down so far half of his blue polka dot boxers were showing was both sad and annoying. His blue knee-high compression socks didn’t help. He looked like a patient. He dressed like a patient. He was a patient.
I parked the car and couldn’t get that image out of my head. Who was that man? Where did my husband go? Had he given up? Have I encouraged him to give up by buying really nice sweatpants? Can he literally not feel his pants coming down or does he feel it and not care? Or does he not have the energy to lift them every two seconds.
Where’s the classy line of clothes for cancer patients with big distended bellies and no ass? Will he ever wear those Bonobos pants again, his salmon colored shorts, his gingham button down shirts? Will he ever wear his clothes that have buttons, buckles, and zippers ever again?
Chapter 18: A Flat Tire
One time on our way back from seeing my family in Wisconsin, we got a flat tire on the worst part of the Pennsylvania turnpike to get a flat tire. There was a loud pop and the van shuffled. And we heard Mike say all the curse words. He pulled over where there was not enough room to pull over. The boys unbuckled the girls’ car seats, and all four of them face-planted the windows to watch their dad. He pulled out car things I didn’t know we had in the trunk and put the spare on with what seemed like inches between him and speeding tractor-trailers.
Through the glass Elizabeth said, “You can do it daddy.”
