It’s Thanksgiving, and this is the view out my window right now.

 

This is Bob’s view every morning.  It is my view a few mornings each week…A dramatic change from home.

 

And as I sit here contemplating it, I think about how we landed here.

 

We first detected Bob’s elevated PSA in November of last year.  Working with the local hospital, we couldn’t get in to see anyone until May.  At that time, the urologist informed Bob he needed a biopsy.  “But there’s only two of us on staff, now,” he said.  “So it might take a while.”  At the desk, they told us they would call to schedule it.

 

We’re still waiting for that call.

 

Growing anxious, I asked our primary care to refer us to another urologist in the capital district area.  We had the biopsy done, and when the results came back not only positive, but disconcertingly aggressive, we were told we needed a PET scan.

 

And getting that test could take weeks or months to schedule.

 

Amidst this flurry, there was a nurse who stepped forward with brutal honesty.

 

“If you love your husband, you need to pray to get those tests as fast as possible.  And then get him out of this region.  We have good doctors, but we don’t have the resources to give the best care.”

 

And so, unsure what to do next, we turned to the world for thoughts and prayers.

 

In under two week’s time, we got an appointment for the PET scan.  “UNBELIEVABLE,” the nurse told me.  “What kind of connections do you have?”

 

“It was good luck,” I told her.  The best kind of luck, really, borne of all the good will of so many loving people.

 

Assured the cancer hadn’t spread to Bob’s bones and lymph, we learned we had to go cancer shopping: choosing doctors and treatments; reading and researching extensively, and  corresponding with every customer/blog reader/podcast follower who had any experience with this…. learning, learning, learning.

 

We identified proton therapy as the best, least invasive, safest treatment for Bob.  And then we had to find a way to get him here to the Proton Center.  And then support his care here.

 

And the prayers and community connections came through even more.  People have stepped forward in ways that my travel-weary mind has lost track of.  Saoirse and Ula are eating with their Aunt, Uncle and cousins each night I’m not home.  Kyle and Jack joined the cafe crew to help ease the burdens there.  Jenn comes to walk the dogs at night before it gets dark.  Dad’s best friend from high school loaned us this apartment, just a thirty minute subway ride from the treatment center.  Customers are treating us gently, forgiving our mistakes, tracking our progress.  Friends find me constantly along my journey to farm, to cafe, to town, stopping me for endless hugs and words of encouragement.  We’ve had help acquiring our train passes, help getting the snow tires on our cars, help running errands, help with housecleaning, help making deliveries, help getting repairs done on the house.

 

This is what it takes to survive illness.

 

And I’m grateful.

 

But each day, I’m keenly aware of how many others in my rural community can’t land this softly.  Even if the insurance might be willing to pick up the out-of-network costs to travel someplace like this, not everyone has the freedom to rearrange their employment to make the journey, the connections to secure safe and comfortable temporary housing, the ability to afford the best possible healing foods, the social connections to stitch together all the little details that go into holding a life together while battling illness.

 

I used to be able to look out the window at home and feel as though I had everything I needed due to hard work, dedication, creative living, and careful thinking.

 

But in these pre-dawn hours, the view out my window is so different.  I see the resources I was gifted when I was born, from the color of my skin, to the education I accessed so easily, to the cheap farmland my parents were able to buy when they were young.  And those resources helped Bob and me build a business, make friends, grow a family, and take care of loved ones.

 

Now, all those things we’ve been able to do are paying enormous dividends and taking care of us.  In this moment when I can reflect on all that I have, I’m blown away by the many who have none of these things. How many people are sitting home in Schoharie County, still waiting for a phone call to schedule the next medical test they require?  How many people are accepting “better than nothing care,” because they can’t uproot their lives?  How many good doctors go to work frustrated that they don’t have the resources to give their patients what they need?

 

My mind goes to these issues, to pondering how they can be resolved.

 

But I am reminded that my place, right now, is to focus on my husband…To take one day at a time, and just work toward his recovery.  I can’t solve all this.  And I cannot express enough gratitude that today, he has what he needs, and I don’t have to solve all this.  But the view from my window has changed.  And it will never be the same again.